


Vulcan Justice

by Marie_Iliea



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Brain Damage, Disney References, Epic Friendship, Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, Mind Meld, Pon Farr, Presumed Dead, attempted suicide, self-injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 20,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2891951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Iliea/pseuds/Marie_Iliea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple, biological fact leaves Kirk dead, and Spock must make amends... (Amok Time rewrite/Pon Farr fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Girlfriends with Plomeek Soups

“Lieutenant, what are you doing?”

It wasn’t often that something made Nyota Uhura jump, and it was even less often that she was seen walking down the officer’s hallway with a dinner tray in hand — especially not post-shift and in comfy, non-regulation attire. Kirk reached out and grabbed the side of said tray, steadying it.

“Thank you, Captain,” she said, blushing slightly, glancing down and away from him and shifting the tray as though she could hide her soft purple pajama top and pants behind it. “Spock hasn’t been eating lately; I thought I’d bring him some —”

“—Plomeek soup. Yeah, I can smell it.” Kirk wasn’t exactly fanatical about the Vulcan dish; something about it turned his stomach. His first officer liked it fine, though, so he wasn’t about to argue if the Vulcan would eat it. “Spock okay?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied. “He could just be in one of his more contemplative moods, but then, he’s been almost…nervous, even abrasive the past few days.” Uhura frowned slightly, and Kirk cocked his head to the side, thinking.

“Let me go in with you; I’ve been meaning to ask him something anyway.”

“Yes, Captain,” the lieutenant replied, ignoring the odd picture they made. Together they walked the rest of the way down to Spock’s quarters and let themselves in — apparently Uhura had free access to his quarters, a fact that didn’t particularly surprise Kirk, given the relationship between the two of them.

The Vulcan’s room was even hotter than normal, it seemed, and darker as well, something that fit perfectly with the expression on the First Officer’s face as the door slid shut behind Kirk and Uhura. Normally, Spock’s eyebrows angled down in a way that gave the impression of a constant, yet oddly impassive scowl. Kirk had to wonder if the other Spock always looked so intimidatingly angry. Today, however, that scowl was genuine in the extreme and grew deeper as the moments slid by.

“What are you doing here?” Spock demanded, no trace of politeness or respect in his tone.

“I thought you’d be hungry, Spock, so I—” Uhura gasped to a stop and flinched as Spock crossed to her with one long step and snatched the tray from her hands, throwing it across the room. The bowl shattered, leaving a dark purple stain dripping down the wall, and the tray fell to the dirty floor with a clatter.

“It is inappropriate for a woman to play servant to a man that is not her own,” he shouted, looming over her. “You will leave!” Shaking, tears sparkling in her dark eyes, the lieutenant cast a frightened look from Spock to Kirk and back again, then fled the room.

“What the _Hell_ , Spock!” Kirk exclaimed, bewilderment coloring his voice, unable to believe Spock had reacted so vehemently. “She’s your girlfriend, you shouldn’t treat her like that. She was just trying to be nice!”

“She is  _not_ my girlfriend, nor is she my mother, my yeoman, or my nurse!” Spock was practically shouting, something that set off serious alarm warnings in Kirk’s head.

“Well you obviously haven’t told her that, not to mention anyone else, or the damn doors, for that matter, since they let her walk on in to your quarters and didn’t warn her you’d try to take her head off!” Spock had his hands curled into fists at his sides, his body trembling slightly. “Spock, what the hell is wrong? If you two are having issues, I can tell you there are better ways to break up with someone, assuming it’s even necessary.”

“You will cease to pry into my personal affairs, Captain, or I will surely break your neck!” The captain was shocked.

“Commander!” Kirk pulled out his best ‘Captain’s voice,’ standing tall and glaring at his First Officer, who suddenly blinked a few times and looked down in what could almost have been sheepishness as he forcibly regained his control.

“Captain,” he began haltingly, “I apologize. I…respectfully request a leave of absence on New Vulcan, effective immediately. We can be there in three days at warp 3, or I can take a shuttle and rendezvous with the Bradbury, which is between the Enterprise and New Vulcan and en route there now.”

“Spock, why do you know where the Brad— wait, _how_ do you even know that? Nevermind; better yet, _why do you want to go_?”

“I wish to take leave among my own kind, Captain,” Spock replied in a tone of barely restrained fury, his hands trembling again. “Is that not enough for you?”

“We’ve been serving together for what, three years now? You’ve never once asked for leave, not after Khan, not even after Nero!” He hesitated, gentling his voice, switching back from ‘Captain Kirk’ to just ‘Jim’. “Spock…Spock, your entire planet was destroyed and your mother killed, but you didn’t take leave even after the ‘crisis’ part was over,” he said gently. “I can only assume, logically, that there’s something gravely wrong, and I want to help. Talk to me, Spock; what’s happened?”

“I need…rest, Cap— Jim,” Spock said roughly, as though struggling greatly to produce the words, or perhaps to avoid saying more.

“Spock—”

“Please. I’m asking you, as my friend, Jim, to accept that answer.”

The two men stared at each other, one golden-haired in a gold shirt with spots of red brightening his cheeks, his brows narrowed in studious concern, the other dark-haired in a blue shirt, a green tinge spreading on his face as he trembled slightly.

“We’ll take you home, Spock,” Kirk said finally. “Don’t worry about taking the shuttle, the Enterprise can come back and finish surveying this planet afterward.”

The tension in Spock’s shoulders relaxed some, and he looked at Kirk with the Vulcan version of a grateful expression.

“Thank you, Captain,” he said quietly, looking away.

“Anytime…just…Spock,” Kirk said, tilting his head slightly to make sure he’d re-caught his friend’s gaze.

“Yes, Captain?”

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I expect you to act like an officer on my ship. If another incident like this happens I’ll be forced to confine you to quarters until we reach New Vulcan.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good. Now…eat something, clean up that mess,” he gestured to the spilled soup staining the wall, and the First Officer followed his gaze with a slight grimace, “and get Bones to check you out, okay?”

Spock looked at Kirk and opened his mouth with the obvious intent to protest, but Kirk wasn’t having any of it.

“That last bit’s an order, Spock. Just let him see if you’re okay…and come talk to me if you need anything.”

With that, Kirk left the room, frowning in concern as the door whooshed closed, blocking his view of the Vulcan.


	2. Warp Eight and Spock's Wrath

“Jim,” McCoy called after his captain as the younger man was retiring to his quarters for the day.  “Jim!”

“Yes, Bones, what is it?” Kirk stopped and let his CMO catch up, frowning slightly at the look on the older man’s face.

“Jim, we need to get Spock to New Vulcan!”

“I’m aware of that, Bones, we’ve been on our way there for several hours now.”

“No, Jim, we need to get him there now.”

Kirk paused in the hall, staring at his friend intently for a moment before heading directly for the nearest com-panel.

“Kirk to Bridge.”

_“Sulu here, Sir.”_

“Increase speed to New Vulcan to maximum warp.”

There was a pause before Sulu replied in a slightly confused voice.

_“Sir, we’ve been at warp 8 for three hours now—”_

_“—Aye, and I’d just come up here to tell ya we cannae take much longer of it, Captain!”_ Scotty broke in.

“I see. And who ordered the alteration?”

Another pause.

_“Mr. Spock did, Captain. He commed the bridge and said he was relaying orders from you.”_

Kirk and McCoy shared a long look, frowns creasing both faces.

“Thank you, Mr. Sulu. Scotty, how fast can we go right now without putting the ship in danger?”

_“I’d say about warp seven and a half, sir, maybe a wee bit more.”_

“Do it, Mr. Sulu. Kirk out.” He turned to McCoy, having a silent, concerned conversation with his friend as he asked the computer to locate his first officer. “C’mon Bones; let’s go find Spock,” he said after ascertaining the Commander’s location in one of the science labs.

 

 

Spock was breaking things.

The science lab was filled with shattered, sparking equipment and one terrified ensign cowering in the corner furthest from the com panel.

“This is the WORST report I have ever read!” Spock was shouting, waving half of a broken PADD around. “It is illogical, emotional, and filled with half-formed opinionated evaluations of the situation!”

“S-s-sir, it’s not a report it’s—”

“I do not  _care_ what it is, Ensign; nothing you do here on the Enterprise should ever be so sloppy!”

“Spock!” McCoy crossed to the irate First Officer and placed a hand on his shoulder — only to be grabbed and violently flipped to the floor, stunned.

“Security to Science Lab Two!” Kirk said into the nearby com panel before racing to stand between Spock and his other officers. Hands raised in a defensive posture — not that it would do any good against a half-Vulcan — Kirk tried to talk some sense into his First Officer. “Spock, Spock calm down. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m going to help you, okay?” Behind Spock, McCoy stirred, and Kirk breathed a sigh of relief.

“Captain, what—?”

“Drop him!” Kirk shouted in reply to the security officer who’d just entered the lab as he pointed at Spock. The man’s eyes widened for a moment, then took in the absolute devastation of the lab and the wild look on Spock’s face.

He fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE CONTINUED.  
> Uh-oh, looks like Spock’s in trouble. I know there are a LOT of similarities to the original episode of Amok Time — it’ll become its own story soon. Some things will have to stay the same; destroying Vulcan didn’t change the Vulcan culture or biology, after all!


	3. "Bundle Him Off To Bed"

Spock hit the floor with a graceful thud, landing much more softly than McCoy had earlier. Kirk relaxed slightly and nodded to the security officer.

“Thank you; keep him covered for now.”

“Yes sir,” was the slightly confused reply. Kirk turned and bent down to help the now-conscious McCoy to his feet.

“Y’alright Bones?” he asked.

“Fine, Jim. Damn hobgoblin’s a menace.” McCoy caught sight of Spock lying on the floor and blanched. “You shot him!?” he shouted at the security officer.

“He’s just stunned, Bones; my order. I couldn’t calm him down, and he’d knocked you flat out.”

McCoy started swearing under his breath as he bent down next to the Vulcan and began examining him.

“Ensign, what happened here?” Kirk asked the slightly-less-distraught man still standing in the far corner.

“I was working on an experiment when Mr. Spock walked in, Sir. He seemed fine at first, and then suddenly came over and snatched my PADD away—” he gestured at the device now lying on the floor in two large pieces “—and after looking at it for a moment began practically screaming at me for producing ‘inferior work.'” The ensign paused. “Captain, Sir, it wasn’t a report; it was my personal project log, I swear!”

“It’s all right, Ensign,” Kirk consoled the young officer. “Mr. Spock’s not feeling well, that’s all. Head down to the Medbay and get checked out, then take a shift off and relax, all right?”

“Yes Sir,” the man replied. “Thank you, Sir.” He left the lab, circling around as far away from the downed Vulcan as he could.

“Bones?” Kirk asked, looking at the intense frown on his friend’s face.

“He’s not good, Jim, but there’s really nothing I can do for him.” He glanced up. “Best I can advise is to bundle him off into his own bed and keep him confined until we get to New Vulcan.” Kirk gestured at the security officer who called for an anti-grav stretcher. Within minutes Spock was being escorted to his quarters by six more security officers, his Captain, and the CMO of the ship — and the rumor-mill was running rampant.

_Commander Spock’s been hurt._  
 _Spock’s sick._  
 _Spock attacked an Ensign._  
 _Spock’s confined to quarters._  
 _Spock got stunned by Security._  
 _What happened?_  
 _Why’d he_ do _it?_  
 _Why are we going to New Vulcan?_  
 _What’s going to happen to him?_  
And, of course:  
_Why isn’t Uhura with him?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE CONTINUED.  
> Did anybody think I’d actually hurt Spock? I hope not. :)  
> (As always, I don’t own them, and I think it’s ridiculous that I have to say so…)


	4. Star Of Freedom

The corridors of Deck Five had never seemed ominous to Nyota before. Though her own quarters were located elsewhere, she had always felt comfortable in the passageways leading to Spock’s cabin — hence the Captain finding her wandering those same halls in her pajamas the day before. Now, though, even in full uniform right after Alpha shift, when the ship’s traffic was at its busiest, she found herself approaching the familiar door with trepidation in her step. _  
_

Spock was not a violent man — Vulcan — but she was terrified he’d attack her, something he’d never done before. It wasn’t logical; it wasn’t in his nature to harm her, because no matter how _illogical_ it may have been, Spock was always a caring, gentle soul behind the impassive exterior. Traumatizing that Ensign yesterday, coupled with striking McCoy, indicated that something was terribly wrong with her boyfriend. _  
_

Remembering her last attempt to help him and how poorly that had gone — she still had no idea why he was so angry with her — made her so uneasy that she almost turned around and left instead of approaching his door. _  
_

No. He was Spock, her boyfriend, her friend, her co-worker — and she loved him. She was determined to help him, even if he didn’t want it, or just didn’t want it from her. _  
_

Courage gathered, she knocked on the door softly, foregoing the buzz-pad on the side. It was entirely too loud if one was inside the room trying to rest, and she didn’t want to disturb Spock if he was meditating or sleeping. _  
_

“Enter,” his voice came through the door quietly. The calmness of his tone gave her courage and she stepped into the room, her heart kicking up a beat as the door slid closed behind her, leaving her in a dark, hot room with potentially the most dangerous individual on the ship. _  
_

She’d never been afraid of Spock before, but now, below the infernally too-short skirt of her uniform, she swore her knees were knocking. _  
_

“Nyota…” He spoke from just beside her, making her jump; she hadn’t realized he was so close.

His hand stretched out to touch her cheek and she flinched before she could stop herself. A slight frown creased his brow and she flushed, but he didn’t move away, instead gently resting his long fingers on her face. Where once the touch would have thrilled her, it now sent icy shudders down her spine. “I am…sorry, Nyota,” Spock continued, a trace of sadness flickering in his dark eyes. She smiled hesitantly, for though this was Spock, somehow it also wasn’t Spock. _  
_

“It’s okay,” she soothed. “It’s okay, just…tell me what happened? What’s wrong?” She shifted, thinking to bring her hands up to his cheeks, but hesitating at touching the oh-so expressive face before her. Her fingers trembled, and she reverted to the one question she was certain he could answer. “What do you need?” _  
_

He stepped closer, fully occupying her space, something that before would have brought her joy, but now felt uncomfortable and threatening. _  
_

“What do I need…” the words trailed off in a murmur, as though he were translating the phrase, deciphering it. “What is it that I need?” Speaking more to himself than to her, his fingers slid down her cheek, shifting into a gesture that she recognized, but had never felt. _  
_

“Spock?” The thought of melding with him filled her with longing, desire, fear, and shame. She’d wanted this, wanted that kind of bond with him for a long time, but it was not something the half-Vulcan shared easily. He was more reserved regarding his mind than most Vulcans, and that was saying something. She both longed for the touch and hated that it had taken his current distress for him to offer it. _  
_

“It is…illogical…to try and be other than what we are, yes, Nyota?” he asked, finally looking directly at her. His gaze was raw, bleeding, and it made her ache as though all the organs inside her had been taken away. _  
_

“I suppose so,” she gasped. “Why?” _  
_

“Logic is rooted in desire, is it not? It is dependent on goals; a wolf’s logic is madness to the goose.” _  
_

“Um…” Nyota was not an individual often reduced to the use of monosyllabic vocalizations of confusion; ‘um’ was a word in her vocabulary mainly because of the annoying overuse of it by others. “Spock, what’s with you?” The fingers on her face pressed harder and she shifted back a step, finding herself pressed against the door which alarmingly did not open in response to her close proximity. _  
_

“Nyota…Nyota Uhura. Star of Freedom. Of course, you know the meaning of your name? Such a beautiful name…you are my star. My Star. I feel free with you, my Star. You make me feel so _free_ …”

Spock’s other hand found her upper arm and squeezed, the bruising pressure of it less frightening than the liberal expression of emotion pouring from her boyfriend in visage, action, and word. _  
_

She gasped, and the sound seemed to trigger something in the half-Vulcan, who suddenly released her and took several steps backward. _  
_

“Nyota,” he said as though surprised to find her there, blinking repeatedly. _  
_

“Yes, Spock. Are you…are you okay?”

“I am…unwell.”

_“_ I noticed,” she said, expecting a disparaging reply gently reprimanding her for asking a question to which she had already observed the answer. None came. “Can I get you anything?” she asked to fill the silence.

Spock’s mouth worked in reply as though fighting not to say something, and the thought _nothing you can give_ flitted across the back of her mind. _  
_

“Perhaps…if you would not mind…” she stepped closer to him, smiling at him in concern, trying to reassure him — trying to hide her fear. _  
_

“Whatever you need, just ask.” If anyone had ever thought she didn’t trust Spock implicitly, being a fly on the wall just then would have cured them of that delusion. Nyota had no idea what kind of reply Spock would give her, but she offered, banking on what she knew of him, believing that he wouldn’t force anything from her. _  
_

And he didn’t. _  
_

“If you would make me more Plomeek soup, I would find that most agreeable,” he said simply, almost plaintively. The lost-little-boy look hiding behind his eyes almost undid her, and this time Nyota found her mouth working soundlessly, not having expected such a tiny request. _  
_

“All right…” she turned away, and this time when she approached it the door opened to let her pass. She’d have to ask him about that — when he was feeling better. “I’ll be back soon. _  
_

Uhura left, feeling both a little lighter and a little heavier, for though Spock was no longer raging, he certainly wasn’t himself. Though she was proud of herself for accomplishing something, for reaching out to him and having it pay off, she still worried that there was something more he needed, some kind of help that she wasn’t able to offer.

Spock just stood there, hands at his sides, brow furrowed in a very un-Vulcan expression of dejection. His fingers trembled, the minuscule quakes traveling through his whole body until he vibrated with repressed grief — for what he truly wanted of Nyota, he knew she simply could not give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE CONTINUED (Also, not mine).  
> As always, thanks to everyone who reads and reviews. I really want to know what you think about my stories, and your feedback influences the content immensely. Tell me what you like, what you don’t like, what you want to see happen, any ideas you have. Throw plot tribbles at my head!  
> And be very, VERY grateful to my new beta DLB48. She is wonderful and lovely and probably doubled the word-count of this chapter while giving it much more oomph and an extra dose of clarity.  
> Anyway, enjoy!


	5. The Slap

The typical easy camaraderie of the bridge crew was conspicuously missing as they uneasily endured the the remaining time to New Vulcan. The absence of Spock from the bridge made the sense of wrongness even more acute — to the dismay of the poor science officer who’d taken over his station. Kirk had taken her aside at one point to assure her that her performance was fine; Alpha shift simply wasn’t the same without Commander Spock.  
  
The Captain almost felt guilty. His first responsibility was always to his crew, ensuring their safety and general wellbeing. Unfortunately that involved not exposing them to potential dangers, and even more unfortunately Spock currently qualified as dangerous. Technically, given his assault on McCoy, he should be in the brig pending Court Martial, but Kirk (wanting to save his friend’s dignity) had instead confined him to quarters pending their arrival at the planet.  
  
Not that Spock seemed to mind.  
  
The First Officer had embraced his solitude, demanding that only Jim, Nyota, and (surprisingly) McCoy be allowed to enter his quarters — and even then only for a few minutes at a time. Spock even made a point of staying as far away from them as physically possible when they were in his cabin, keeping to the far end of the room and insisting that they did the same.  
  
What little reassuring signs they saw would disappear quickly: Nyota was encouraged by Spock eating the bowl of soup she’d brought, but the relief was replaced by a deep sense of hurt when he stopped letting her in his quarters without an escort. The part of her that was unsettled and slightly afraid of him given his actions the last time she’d been alone with him understood the precaution; the rest of her simply felt slapped across the face.  
  
McCoy actually almost smiled when he found out Spock was eating, the elation fading fast as he observed that the soup was the only thing he would eat — and only in small portions each day. He increased his check-ups of the Vulcan to every five hours, often having to hypo the agitated First Officer with anything from sedatives to concentrated nutrients, depending on what he found.  
  
Time was running out; Spock had lost several pounds since the whole thing bega, and as much as the doctor in McCoy analyzed and diagnosed and generally fussed over his patient, the man in him anguished over the possibility of losing his friend.  
  
Not that he would ever say that.  
  
The tension running high on the bridge spread slowly through the whole ship, the anxious-but-excited feeling infusing everyone. It was as though the entire crew held their collective breaths as the Enterprise entered into communications range of the planet, hoping desperately that Spock would finally get whatever help he needed and things could return to normal. No one would relax until they had, so when Kirk called Spock up to the bridge, the attending officers were more than a little uneasy.  
  
“Hail the planet, please, Lieutenant,” Kirk said once Spock had arrived. The individual brought up on the screen was not a communications officer for the planet as expected; instead, they saw a stunning Vulcan woman in a simple elegant gown with carefully done-up hair, her face shadowed and turned slightly from the viewer.  
  
“Spock,” she said solemnly. “Parted from me and never parted; never and always touching and touched. We meet at the appointed place.”  
  
“T’Pring,” he replied with equal solemnity. “Parted from me and never parted; never and always touching and touched. I await you.”  
  
The communication cut off, and the entire bridge was silent, realizing they’d just witnessed one of the rituals of a dying culture. The momentousness of the occasion was broken by Carol.  
  
“Mr. Spock,” she said slowly. “Who was that?”  
  
Staring directly ahead at the blank viewscreen Spock replied:  
  
“My wife,” He said. There was a slight hesitation in the way he said ‘wife,’ and if one looked closely they would’ve seen his eyes narrow just slightly and the hands clasped behind his back squeeze tighter.  
  
Various sounds of disbelief and shock spread across the bridge, followed by a cold, expectant silence as all eyes turned to the communications station. Uhura was slowly rising from her seat, fury etched plainly across her features.  
  
“Uhura,” Kirk warned as she stalked up to Spock. He turned to face her, his expression blank.  
  
“Nyota—”  
  
A resounding slap echoed off the bulkheads, the blow snapping Spock’s head to one side, though his feet remained solidly planted on the deck.  
  
“Lieutenant!” Kirk jumped to stand between the two of them, gaze flicking from Uhura’s too-bright eyes to the green flush spreading across Spock’s cheek. “Stand down and _step back_.” She retreated, and Kirk looked to his First Officer. “I really hate to do this, but I have to ask: Commander, do you intend to pursue charges against the Lieutenant for striking a superior officer?” The bridge crew was slightly aghast, but no one could deny the responsibility the Captain had to deal with the situation. The slap happened while both were on duty, in full uniform, on the bridge and in front of nearly the entire command crew. It wasn’t something Kirk could ignore.  
  
Spock blinked slowly a few times before replying, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts.  
  
“No Sir, I do not, on the grounds that I believe I ‘had it coming’ as you might say.”  
  
“Well, that’ll make one hell of a note in the log. Lieutenant,” Kirk said, turning back to Uhura, “you are hereby confined to quarters during your off hours until further notice, and I want it absolutely clear; no one is in any way to strike or injure a superior officer — or any crewmember, for that matter — unless their own health and safety is in danger. Am I understood?”  
  
“Yes Sir,” she replied, turning smartly on her heel and returning to her seat. Kirk saw her glance over at Carol, who gave the communications officer a look that seemed entirely supportive of her actions.  
  
Kirk couldn’t blame her.  
  
Turning to Spock, he bottled off the fury he felt toward his First Officer for the moment. He’d get after the Vulcan later for actually starting a crazy love triangle, let alone being part of one; for now, he had to make sure the guy stayed alive to handle the fallout.  
  
“Sulu, you have the bridge,” he said.  
  
“Aye Sir.”  
  
“How does this work, Mr. Spock?” Kirk asked as he led the Vulcan into the turbolift, Bones following behind. “Are there any particular protocols we need to follow?”  
  
“No, Captain, however, I would like to make a request.”  
  
“Go for it,” he replied warily.  
  
“Much like in a Terran wedding, it is traditional that the couple is accompanied to the ceremony by their friends. I would like to request that you stand with me during this event.”  
  
Even through his disgust at Spock’s treatment of Uhura — and his wife — Kirk couldn’t deny that Spock was one of his best friends, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon, no matter how angry Kirk got.  
  
“I would be honored, Commander.” McCoy huffed from beside them.  
  
“Well, I suppose I’ll be headed back to the Medbay, then, if ya—”  
  
“Leonard.” It wasn’t often that Spock used anyone’s first name, and it was even rarer for that name to be the doctor’s.  
  
“Yeah?” The (slightly shocked) southern gentleman replied.  
  
“I would ask that you stand with me as well.”  
  
Kirk looked on in amusement as confusion, happiness and embarrassment mixed together in an odd expression on McCoy's face. Momentarily forgetting his anger at Spock, he watched as McCoy pulled himself together and fixed a serious look on the half-Vulcan.  
  
“I wouldn’t miss it, Spock” he stated sincerely.  
  
“Thank you,” The simple tone of Spock’s reply almost eased the oddly apprehensive feeling his friends felt about their impending role in the upcoming ceremony.  
  
But not quite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE CONTINUED:  
> I’m sorry this chapter is more-or-less a rewrite of the same scene in TOS. There really wasn’t much other choice, as though the planet is gone, the culture is the same, so I figured this particular scene wouldn’t have been affected by the changes in the universe as much — except that slap. Boy, it almost makes you feel sorry for Spock, huh? XD  
> I feel it is no longer necessary after 5 chapters to remind everyone who already knows that I don’t own anything that I don’t own anything. So I shall desist after this final reminder that no, I don’t own them, I’m not getting paid, etc.  
> Letting you guys know that I’m going through some existential crises — if they cause delays or are detrimental to the stories, I apologize. If they bleed through and you like what they do to my little tales, at least something good came out of it.


	6. New Vulcan

The planet certainly didn’t look like Vulcan; the sand was golden instead of red and the ground was covered with smooth dunes instead of craggy rock formations. It felt like Vulcan, though — or, at least it felt like Spock’s quarters — if a bit more humid.  
  
Waiting for them when they beamed down were Ambassadors Spock and Sarek. Sarek’s face was a blank mask, but the other Ambassador’s expression was almost anxious, something Kirk noticed immediately.  
  
“Something wrong, Ambassador Selek?” he asked, using the name Spock had adopted in the altered universe.  
  
“Outsiders are not privy to the sacred rituals of our race, except for those few who have taken part in them,” Sarek replied before Selek could speak. His tone was as controlled as his face, but something about the sharpness of each word conveyed a very real anger at the presence of Kirk and McCoy.  
  
Selek’s frown increased slightly, his eyebrows furrowing just a smidgen. Kirk got the distinct impression that the Vulcan was concerned about something else entirely. He was about to inquire further when Spock came to their defense.  
  
“I invited them to stand with me, Father,” Spock said. “It is my right to do so.”  
  
Sarek relaxed minutely, the space around him seeming suddenly less hostile, though Selek appeared no less uneasy.  
  
“Very well then,” Sarek said. “Spock, before the ceremony can commence, there are things you must know.”  
  
“Father?” Spock had never sounded quite so confused, and it worried Kirk and McCoy, especially given the seriously uncomfortable expressions on the Ambassador’s faces — an unusual thing in and of itself.  
  
“T’Pring bonded with another during your absence. Not a mating bond, obviously, as she was already bonded in such a way to you, but there was a bond, and it was both deep and strong. Her…companion perished with our planet, and the loss of him has left her quite…”  
  
“Emotional,” Selek supplied. “It is hoped that completing the mating bond with you will help restore her to herself, though no one will force you to do so, given the inherent risk to your own mind.”  
  
Spock was silent for several minutes, and the weight of the news hung in the air around McCoy and the Captain, keeping them silent as well.  
  
They wanted to speak, however. McCoy, for all his bickering with the Vulcan, had no wish to see the Vulcan's mind destroyed. It was a unique and precious thing, something he admired in his (unadmitted) friend.  
  
Kirk was fuming internally, feeling certain that Sarek was guilt-tripping Spock into bonding with T’Pring. Concern that his First Officer would choose to stay on the colony made his heart squeeze in his chest; nothing would be the same without him.  
  
I wish to proceed,” Spock said finally. The edge of reluctance and resignation in his voice was ignored by the other Vulcans, but not by his friends.  
  
“Spock,” Kirk said, moving into his First Officer’s line of sight. “Are you sure you want to do this?”  
  
A pause, during which the Captain’s skin nearly crawled with some unnameable sense of dread.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Now hold on, I don’t understand, Spock,” McCoy said. “What’s all this about bonding? Didn't you say you’re already married to her?”  
  
Spock’s posture straightened slightly, as though he were giving a lecture — or disciplining a cheating cadet.  
  
“Our parents arranged our marriage when I was seven Vulcan years old, and, as is traditional, we formed a telepathic link to each other for the purpose of drawing us together when the Time came. There is no human equivalent; it is more than an engagement but less than a marriage.”  
  
“And bonding with T’Pring will what, be like replacing an amputated limb with a new one?”  
  
“That is a gross oversimplification, but the principle is similar, yes.”  
  
“What’s the risk to you?” Kirk wanted to know.  
  
“T’Pring’s distress could be transferred to me, though it is unlikely.”  
  
It wasn’t like Spock to not give down-to-the-thousandth calculations of events, and the deviation concerned the Captain.  
  
“I see,” he said.  
  
Sarek exhaled through his nose, barely loud enough to hear, turned, and walked away. The two Spocks raised a single eyebrow in unison at the abrupt manner of ending the conversation and followed him, leaving Kirk and McCoy with no other option than to shake off the surreal event and catch up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE CONTINUED:  
> Okay, this is a bland chapter, sorry about that. The real twist between this tale and TOS shows up chapter after next.  
> I’m not someone who usually posts things like this comment, but please do review and let me know what you’d like to see, what you don’t want to see, what you think you will or won’t see, etc. Right now the influx of ideas will probably go a long way toward helping me write — because I’m rather empty right now with all the grief and stress. I need my cathartic exercise, but I can’t quite get there on my own. You guys inspire me like nothing else, so please; tell me what this story needs for you to enjoy it, help me brainstorm and take a bit of the load off my shoulders. The rest of this story will be endlessly dedicated to those of you who do.  
> Also, please keep my family in your thoughts and prayers right now.
> 
> —Marie


	7. A Vulcan Hot Mess

Sarek led them away from the colony into the rolling hills of golden sand until they reached a clearing surrounded on all sides by tall dunes. Steps had been built down into the open space on opposing sides and a small raised platform was set in the center. On the platform hung an ornate gong and striker.  
  
“This is our place of _Koon-ut-kal-if-fee_ , of marriage or challenge,” Sarek intoned solemnly. “Our ancestors killed to win their mates, and we yet endure a similar madness during this Time.”  
  
Despite the heat, Sarek's words sent a chill coursing through Kirk. Madness? Weren't the Vulcans supposed to be all about logic? He thought back on Spock's strange, emotional behavior on the ship. His anticipation-turned-concern about Spock's bride-to-be shifted toward dread. He dropped back a few steps to have a word with McCoy. Maybe the doctor knew enough about Vulcan mating rituals to reassure him.  
  
“I guess even that green ice water in their veins has to boil over sometime,” was McCoy’s muttered reply. Sarek shot him a very Vulcan-esque glare, while Selek gave him a scowl that did little to hide the laughter in his eyes. The doctor’s humor in no way alleviated the Captain’s concern. Spock ignored them all, descending slowly into the sandy hollow and oblivious to Kirk's growing unease over the situation.  
  
They followed behind, the humans waiting with the Ambassadors as Spock approached the gong and rang it once. The doleful sound vibrated through the air, making Kirk’s bones tremble with an odd sense of unease he could neither justify nor place.  
  
The jingling of bells filled the air, and from the stairs opposite them another party appeared and climbed down into the clearing. The bell-ringers preceded a very, very old Vulcan woman who was carried in on a chair. Behind her were T’Pring and several other Vulcans who Kirk assumed to be what remained of T'Pring's family.  
  
As they crossed the soft sand, Kirk tried to get a better look at the woman for whom Spock risked his sanity — but she kept her face turned slightly down and away, which only made the baseless anxiety rising in him worse.  
  
Spock rang the gong a second time, distracting the captain. T’Pring and the bell-ringers moved to stand near the gong, while the Vulcan woman on the chair was settled gently atop a dais set into the edge of the clearing, midway between the sets of stairs and facing the platform with the gong. Spock approached her as the jingling finally ceased.  
  
“Finally,” McCoy muttered. “Those bells were giving me a headache.” Kirk flashed him a slightly chastising look, nudging him with an elbow to pay attention.  
  
“T’Pau,” Spock said, raising his hand in the _ta’al_.  
  
“Spock,” she replied, returning the gesture and then stretching out her hand to touch his face. The meld was brief, and when it was over T’Pau turned her gaze on the two humans. “Given the destruction of our home planet, Spock, I find it concerning that you brought outsiders into this sacred place,” she said, a certain coolness in her tone.  
  
“They are Captain James T. Kirk and Doctor Leonard McCoy of the Starship Enterprise,” he said, “and my friends. They assisted with the evacuation of Vulcan; Kirk himself stopped the Narada’s drill, and the Doctor treated the Vulcan refugees. They are not merely outsiders.”  
  
T’Pau’s eyes widened just slightly.  
  
“I see. Do they understand their role in this?”  
  
“They know not to interfere.” It was not quite an answer to the question, and as he spoke Spock raised his voice to reiterate the point he had already expressed — repeatedly — to his companions.  
  
“Very well,” T’Pau said, gesturing the humans forward. “What you shall witness today has come down from the time of the beginning, without change. Before, each clan had their own sacred place, but for now, we all share this one. Here you will see that which is the Vulcan heart, the Vulcan soul, the Vulcan way.”  
  
“We are honored,” Kirk said. T’Pau inclined her head at him with a grace that belied her apparent age and waved the officers back over to their places by the stairs. As they returned, McCoy noticed Selek staring at him oddly, an expression of what might have been expectation crossed with worry dancing over his almost-impassive features. It sent shivers down the doctor’s spine.  
  
“ _Kah-if-farr_!” T’Pau said loudly to Spock, distracting McCoy from his thoughts.  
  
The bells began to ring again as Spock returned to the gong and raised the striker. As he swung it, T’Pring suddenly stepped up to him and the instrument, holding her hand palm-out to prevent Spock ringing it.  
  
“ _Kal-if-fee_!” she shouted, her voice trembling. The bells ceased abruptly, and Spock dropped the striker, his face displaying pure shock.  
  
“Was she supposed to do that…?” Kirk muttered to McCoy.  
  
“I’m a doctor, not a Vulcanologist, how should I know?” he replied.  
  
Kirk chose not to tell his friend that Vulcanology still referred to the study of volcanoes in favor of paying attention to the proceedings.  
  
Spock had retreated to the edge of the clearing, several feet away from Kirk and the rest of the group that had accompanied him. He leaned against the gradual slope of the dune, hiding his face in his hands as his whole body trembled. The slight concern on the faces of the two Ambassadors made the sense of uncertainty in Kirk’s chest blossom into full-on alarm.  
  
T’Pring still stood in front of the gong, and a Vulcan bearing a frightening, axe-like weapon had taken up a place beside her. For the first time since the transmission on the Enterprise, Kirk got a good look at Spock’s bride-to-be, and understood exactly why she'd veiled her face during that exchange; the woman was the Vulcan version of a hot mess.  
  
Her hair, makeup, and dress were pristine and lovely with a shimmering effect that couldn’t have been logical at all — but the trappings couldn’t hide the distraught female underneath. The green lines of her veins could be seen in the whites of her eyes, an olive splotchiness marred her lower lids, and her lips were swollen and chapped as though they’d been gnawed upon frequently. Her whole body trembled, nearly as badly as Spock’s, and the outstretched palm of her hand bore four deep crescent-shaped marks that leaked the same emerald fluid that stained the tips of her perfectly-trimmed nails.  
  
The dread that had been brewing in Kirk’s stomach erupted into full-blown alarm. Spock couldn’t seriously be intending to bond with what appeared to be, for a Vulcan, someone absolutely deranged.  
  
After a moment, Kirk realized that wasn’t the most unsettling part of the situation. That honor went to her wide, emotion-filled stare.  
  
Which was fixed directly on _him_.


	8. To The Death

The sight of T’Pring’s gaze fixed on him terrified Kirk in a way he’d never experienced before, having always intentionally avoided the emotional fallouts experienced by his frequent conquests. And this female wasn’t just distressed, she was Vulcan and distressed. Not a good combination.  
  
“She chooses the challenge,” T’Pau said.  
  
“She has the right to insist that Spock fight for her,” Selek said to the humans.  
  
“Woah, wait,” Kirk said, with McCoy shouting “Are you outta your Vulcan mind?” at the same time.  
  
“Spock’s in no condition to fight anyone, least of all that walking mountain,” McCoy said, gesturing at the (admittedly rather large) Vulcan standing by T’Pring.  
  
“His function is to prevent acts of cowardice,” T’Pau replied. “T’Pring will chose her champion.”  
  
“Mr. Spock is my First Officer, and I do not authorize him to engage in combat at this time,” Kirk said firmly. He turned to Spock, calling his friend’s name.  
  
“He does not hear thee, Kirk,” T’Pau said, her voice almost sad. “He is deep in the _plak-tow_ , the blood fever, and must see it to the end. He must stay, but thee may leave now if thee so desires.”  
  
“Spock?” Kirk called again. When the Vulcan didn’t move from his place against the dune, the Captain sighed and turned back to T’Pau. “We’ll stay.”  
  
“Spock chose his friends well.” She turned to T’Pring and called her forward. “Thou hath chosen the _kal-if-fee_ , the challenge. Are thee prepared to become the property of the victor?”  
  
“Yes.” T’Pring threw the word at T’Pau like a curse and looked away.  
  
“Spock, dost thou accept the challenge according to our laws and customs?”  
  
Spock’s body jerked in an attempt to nod, and something flipped over in Kirk’s stomach.  
  
“T’Pring, thou wilt choose thy champion.”  
  
T’Pring turned on her heel and pointed at Kirk.  
  
“Him!” she cried. The eyes of all the Vulcans present (barring both Spocks) widened, and the two humans got the distinct impression that their shock was less about T’Pring’s choice than it was about how she chose him. The man with the Vulcan axe-thing stepped toward her, weapon raised, but T’Pau stopped him with a gesture.  
  
“I will tolerate thine outburst because I understand thy grief, child,” T’Pau said. “However I shall do so only this once. Kirk! She is within her rights to choose thee, but thou are not bound by our laws and customs. Thou are free to decline, should thou wish it, and no harm shall come to thee or thy doctor.”  
  
“What will happen to Spock if I do?” Kirk asked warily.  
  
“Another will be chosen.”  
  
“Bones, there’s no one here he could take on right now, is there?” Kirk asked his friend quietly, glancing sideways at the doctor.  
  
“No.” The answer comes through clenched teeth and accompanied by a scowl. Kirk’s blue eyes flashed.  
  
“So I let him beat me. Win-win.” He stepped forward. “I accept,” he declared.  
  
“No!” The word was ripped from Spock’s throat as he staggered toward T’Pau.  
  
“He speaks!” Open shock was displayed on the faces of the Vulcans — except Selek, who simply seemed resigned to the situation.  
  
“T’Pau, he is my friend,” Spock rasped brokenly, hands clasped before him in a universal gesture of pleading.  
  
“ _Kroykah_!” She demanded, interrupting him. Spock looked both relieved and dismayed that he was unable to say more. “This is a sacred ceremony! We stand on the edge of extinction — thee will honor thy heritage, thy fathers, those whose minds are now lost! It is decided!”  
  
“Well, we know which side of the family gave Spock his opinion on rules,” Kirk whispered to McCoy, trying vainly to diffuse the tension building in the air. It didn’t work, though Selek quirked the corner of his mouth in an almost-sad, almost-smile.  
  
“Silence!” T’Pau insisted. “Here begins the act of combat for possession of the woman T’Pring. As it was in the time of the beginning, so it is now. Bring forth the _lirpa_!” Two of the attendants approached, handing Spock and Kirk their own of the axe-like weapon Kirk had noticed earlier. It was as long as he was tall, the bladed end wickedly sharp and the large counterweight on the other end incredibly heavy, making Kirk grunt as its weight was transferred to his grip. “If both survive the _lirpa_ , combat shall continue with the _ahn-woon_.”  
  
“Woah, woah, wait! What do you mean, ‘ _if both survive_ ’?” Kirk shouted, spinning to face her instead of Spock.  
  
“The ritual of combat is to the death.”  
  
“Why didn’t anyone tell me that!?” Kirk shouted over McCoy’s infuriated sputtering. Kirk fixed his gaze angrily on Selek and Sarek, betrayal filling his blue eyes before he turned away. “I will not fight my friend to the death,” he told T’Pau, letting the _lirpa_ fall to the sand.  
  
“Then thee shall die, Kirk,” she replied, eyes fling-hard. “It has begun; let no one interfere!” The bells begin to ring once more.  
  
McCoy saw it before Kirk, lurching toward his friend with a cry as Spock charged him from behind, the blade of the _lirpa_ aimed to take the Captain’s head from his shoulders. Selek seized McCoy by the arm, restraining him even as the Vulcan with the first _lirpa_ approached to bar his way.  
  
“Jim!” the doctor shouted.  
  
Kirk whipped around and ducked in time to save his head, but not by much.  
  
His relief was short lived. Spock’s attack had resulted in the Vulcan being between Kirk and his _lirpa_ , leaving him defenseless. He stumbled backward, evading Spock’s jabs and swings, trying to find the winning scenario.  
  
There had to be one, and he had to find it _soon_ because given their last fight, logic dictated he should be dead by now.  
  
From the corner of his eye he saw how Selek stared at the distraught McCoy, as though anxiously waiting for Bones to do something. Kirk tried to figure out (amid ducking and scrambling around the enraged Spock) what the doctor could have done in Selek’s universe to stop this — and all he could come up with is that, whatever it was, it was outside of Kirk’s ability to replicate.  
  
His chest began to burn with the strain, the combined forces of the atmosphere, increased gravity, and sheer emotional stress battering down his reserves. He looked from Spock to Bones and back, gasping for breath, and made a decision.  
  
He’d died for Spock once, and he’d do it again. If Bones could fix him up, so much the better; if not, it was worth it. When his First Officer came around for another swing he ducked the blade and then pulled himself back up quickly, placing his head directly in the path of the weapon’s backswing.  
  
The heavy counterweight struck him at the base of his skull.

Kirk dropped like the proverbial stone.  
  
Spock reeled, his _lirpa_ falling on the ground as the bells stopped ringing and T’Pau’s cry of “ _Kroykah_ ” resounded in his ears. He looked around in confusion, taking in the small throng of Vulcans, the sight of McCoy running toward -- toward Jim, facedown on the ground, bleeding copiously into the sand at Spock's feet.  
  
“Captain?” he breathed, the word a question and a plea, as he collapsed to his knees by the crumpled young man. He reached out to touch Kirk, to check for a pulse, roll him over, try to staunch the blood flowing from his head, but McCoy shoved him aside.  
  
“Keep your hands off him, Hobgoblin!” he snarled, examining Kirk frantically. His eyes widened, heart pounding as he assessed the injury and came to the only conclusion he could. “Good God man, you caved his head in!” he shouted with dismay, keeping his body almost protectively between Kirk and his First Officer. He turned and faced the statue that was Spock, cradling the Captain’s head in hands covered with far too much blood.  
  
“You killed him, Spock,” McCoy said, his voice rough. “It’s over. He’s dead.” He hung his head, trying hard to maintain his composure as T’Pau spoke softly, her voice infinitely sad — something he thought beyond a (sane) Vulcan’s ability.  
  
“I grieve with thee,” she said, and _damn it all_ but she sounded sincere.  
  
McCoy sighed heavily and fixed his gaze on Spock.  
  
He looks empty, McCoy thought. He forced words out, choosing them carefully, desperate to return to the ship, to do anything other than have the cracked pieces of his best friend's skull cradled between his fingers.  
  
“Well, you’ve got yourself a command for now, Mr. Spock. What are your orders?”  
  
Spock refused to look at him, merely nodding his head for a moment before replying.  
  
“Yes…return to the ship, Doctor. Please take the Cap--the…body…with you, and make any arrangements you find appropriate or necessary. I will follow you shortly.”  
  
“I expect you to report to the Medbay as soon as you’re back aboard, Mr. Spock,” McCoy said.  
  
“I understand, Doctor. Now, if you please,” Spock replied, his voice absolutely emotionless, the picture of Vulcan perfection.

McCoy was all too willing to comply.


	9. Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Skip to the bottom of the page for a TL;DR sum up -- you'll be able to finish the story without missing much information that way.

The haze of _plak'tow_ had lifted, leaving Spock all-too aware of the emotions stirring inside him. Guilt, despair, grief and anguish all threatened to overcome his barely-recaptured control. As he wrestled with the growing, contradicting desires to rage, to weep and to flee, T'Pau's calm words reached his ears.  
  
“I grieve with thee, Spock,” T’Pau said solemnly. She was the matriarch of his clan, one of the oldest Vulcans alive even before the destruction of their planet, and her control was impeccable. Spock knew this, knew that though her face was stone her words were sincere, and yet he was human enough to need some expression of that grief for the sentiment to seem real.  
  
That humanity wanted to say “No, you do not.” It wanted T’Pau and T’Pring and even his older self to feel remorse, to ache with guilt so strong it bled in green streaks from their inhuman eyes. So he inclined his head to her, matching T’Pau’s solemnity with his own, not deigning to speak to her as he turned his back. Carefully avoiding the congealing pool of blood staining the sand, he approached Selek.  
  
“Did you expect this?” he asked of his older self. Multi-layered sadness filled the other's eyes which were wet with tears, something that made Spock feel perhaps the slightest bit of cruel triumph. The elder nodded, his expression bordering on guilty.  
  
“It did not happen quite the same way in my universe,” he clarified hesitantly, “but yes, I did experience something similar.”  
  
Spock glared at Selek. “You said nothing.”  
  
“There was nothing I could say, for I swore not to interfere with your destiny.”  
  
“ _Khan_ ,” Spock accused, the single, damning word summarizing his thoughts on the matter. Selek inclined his head in acquiescence.  
  
“Khan was another matter. While I did inform you that we had also encountered him, you will recall that I did not tell you exactly what happened in my time, nor how to defeat him in yours.” He inhaled deeply, releasing the breath on a heavy sigh. “Our paths have diverged; my history is not your destiny. I had anticipated that your path would differ from mine — unfortunately, it is your Captain who has paid the price for that miscalculation.”  
  
Spock had no sympathy for his elder counterpart, lashing out at him in reply with direct intent to injure.  
  
“Did you kill _your_ Captain as well, _Selek_?”  
  
Selek flinched and actually seemed to struggle for words. “All I can tell you is that my captain did not die on Vulcan.”  
  
“Look around you; neither did mine.” With that, Selek ceased to exist for Spock; the elder was beneath even the younger’s contempt.  
  
Spock turned away, facing his father and giving him the ta’al.  
  
“Live long and prosper, Father,” he stated tersely, ignoring the worry flickering around behind Sarek’s eyes. He and Spock had grown closer since Amanda’s death; part of Spock knew his father grieved with him, was concerned for him, but the forms of comfort available for his all-Vulcan father to offer him seemed hollow and worthless. Simply being Vulcan, even in part, caused waves of disgust to grow within him; he had no desire to take part in ‘appropriate’ rituals of grief. “T’Pring,” he continued, barely casting a glance at the trembling wreck of a woman, “I do not desire you.”  
  
Moving away and putting his back to them, Spock drew his communicator. T’Pau spoke his name and he froze, but did not turn.  
  
“Live long and prosper,” she said. At that, he faced her.  
  
“As my captain would have said, Lady T’Pau,” he replied with all the passive-aggressive sarcasm in his tone he could muster, “yeah right.” He had only ever spoken with that attitude before; when turning down a place at the Vulcan Science Academy. It felt just as vindictive now as it had then. Flicking his communicator open, he commed the Enterprise. “One to beam up.”

 

 

When he materialized, he was greeted by a firmly at-attention Scotty with damp eyes and a carefully neutral expression.  
  
“The Captain…McCoy took ‘im to the medbay, Sir. Told me to have you report directly to ‘im for examination after getting your…orders.”  
  
Spock stared at a point over Scotty’s shoulder as he paged the bridge.  
  
“Sulu here.”  
  
“Lieutenant, as per regulations I am hereby turning command of the Enterprise over to you and promoting Chief Engineer Scott to First Officer. Your orders are to proceed with all reasonable haste to the nearest Starbase where regulations require I turn myself over to the authorities for immediate court-martial.”  
  
_“Sir?”_ Sulu questioned when he stopped for breath, a muted _“Commander?”_ sounding in the background from Chekhov. Concern and confusion colored their voices.  
  
"Please note in the log that as of this stardate Captain James Tiberius Kirk is dead by my hands,” he continued stiffly, ignoring the gasps and dismayed protestations. “You have your orders — Spock out.”  
  
“…You…killed the captain, Sir?” Scotty sputtered hesitantly. “I…I dinnae believe it! What happened, Mr. Spock? Whatever happened on that bloody planet I’m sure must have just been a terrible accident…”  
  
“It was no accident, Mr. Scott,” came the reply, bitterness dancing on the edges of the Vulcan’s tone. “I _murdered_ Captain Kirk. Excuse me.”  
  
Spock departed, leaving Scotty staring after him in mute shock.

 

 

Logically, Spock's quarters were probably the last place he needed to be. Regulations required he be in the brig, confined for the safety of the crew; friendship dictated he be in the Medbay, apologizing to McCoy and assisting the doctor as he made arrangements for the Captain’s — Jim's — body.  
  
Logic had little to do with Spock's actions now, however -- or at least, conventional logic had little to do with them. In another universe Spock had proceeded with calm solemnity to a sickbay inhabited by a living Captain; but that Spock had not watched his planet be devoured by a black hole, he had not despaired as his mother fell to her death just out of his reach, and he certainly had not violently pursued a deranged Augment through San Francisco to avenge the untimely death of his Captain.  
  
If it hadn't been for the agony-filled days spent watching Jim struggle his way back to life, seeing the grief of McCoy and the crew as they waited on the knife-edge of hope for their friend's heart to beat, for him to breathe again after dying afraid, isolated, and in pain, perhaps he would not have been so set upon his current course.

His planet, he knew logically he could not have saved.

His mother he could perhaps have saved, and in his grief he had been willing to sacrifice himself while destroying the Narada as absolution.

But he had forgiven himself, in time, in a way he never could be forgiven for this.

_Failure-to-save_ was not _murder_. It was not mindless _execution_ in a blood rage.

He had watched his mother die, but he himself had ended Jim's life.  
  
When the door to his cabin slid shut behind him the veneer of self-control fell away. Spock trembled, gasping, stumbling as he crossed to the far corner of the room. With shaking hands Spock lifted a ceremonial Vulcan dagger from its place on the wall and knelt on his meditation mat. Blade cradled reverently in his hands, he slipped into a trance, remembering…

 

_Heat burned under his skin, stung his nerves, drove him forward against the panicked entreaties of his rational mind. The face before him, familiar, teasing, those vibrant blue eyes wary, yet trusting all the same._  
  
_**Friend** , some small part of him whispered in agony. _**Friend** _. His soul flamed hotter; how dare a friend burn for his intended? How dare_ she _challenge, how dare she_ choose _him?_  
  
_The lirpa struck the ground and he charged, taking swift advantage of his enemy's defenselessness. Voices cried out around him, and the blue eyes widened as his opponent ducked. Weaponless, the enemy — **friend** , his heart murmured — backtracked, sidestepped, dodged, evaded._  
  
_Spock was furious. He pressed the attack, watching as calm acceptance filled those saddened blue eyes with resigned determination, flicking from someone watching back to Spock, and between them again. The enemy knew he would die, yet still he avoided the lirpa's blade, ducking under the weapon._  
  
_Mistake._  
  
_The enemy stood too soon, and the counterweight was already in line with the blonde head. Spock accelerated the backswing, reveling in the solid_ crack _of contact, the splattering of blood._  
  
_The enemy dropped._  
  
_Clarity._  
  
_Ice._  
  
_Spock no longer burned, and with the abrupt return to sanity came shock and panic._

_He was surrounded, being watched, standing on hot sands as frantic feet slipped across them, racing in his direction, crying out._  
  
_Kirk lay crumpled on golden sand that adhered to his bleeding skull. Spock dropped his lirpa, sickened by the sight of his Captain's blood staining the counterweight, a lock of his hair sticking to the metal._  
  
_A horrible pain twisted in his side by his pounding heart as he fell to his knees beside Kirk, reaching hesitantly for his Captain's pulse. A body, heavy and too-warm, knocked him aside, an angry, grief-stricken voice confirming his looming suspicions._  
  


_His friend was dead._

 

Reliving that moment of anguish broke Spock from his meditation. His eyes watered, but he firmly denied himself the solace of tears. He did not deserve the comfort of their warm flow; he was guilty, and there could be no comfort for him. He raised the dagger, curling his long fingers around its hilt as he lined the blade up with his heart. Breathing deeply and slowly, he spared a final thought for Nyota. A fledgling bond had sprung up between them, a tiny awareness of each other, and through it, he could sense her panic, the sharp echoes from the pain of his betrayal only enhancing his guilt.  
  
She was coming for him, he realized, wondering if his intentions were bleeding through into her awareness. His door chime sounded, her voice passed stridently through the door. _Jim, alive? No, Nyota, you are misinformed, mistaken — perhaps you lie._  
  
“I am sorry,” he whispered — and then sheathed the blade in his side.  
  
The pain was sharp and icy-hot, the wound burning as it tore him through with numbing cold. Vision blurring, he pulled the dagger from his body, hearing it clatter with a wet sound into the spreading pool of his blood. Hidden under the rushing sounds in his ears he thought he heard voices calling him; shouts of fear and anger, heavy tears and frustrated grumbles.  
  
The pain and burning faded, leaving only the cold which seeped into him, freezing him until he heard nothing.  
  
Saw nothing.  
  
Felt…nothing…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE CONTINUED:  
> All errors belong to my beta.  
> (Nah, she’s actually wonderful, has been both carving out time to keep this story going and to help support me through some rough stuff.) I gotta say, I’ve met some of the best friends in my life via fanfiction. Thank you.
> 
>  
> 
> TL:DR -- Spock stabs himself in the heart as penance for killing Kirk. Unlikely it's horribly graphic, but if suicide/attempted suicide/self-injury upsets you, skip everything after the italic section.


	10. Desperation

"McCoy to Bridge!"

" _Bridge here, this is Sulu; what's going on, Doctor?"_

"Sulu,  _where's Spock_?"

* * *

"He turned command over to me via the comm system, Doctor; I assumed he was with you and—" Sulu swallowed, fighting for composure, "—and Captain Kirk in the Medbay."

" _Well he's not, dammit! Get that pointy-eared bastard down here now; the Captain's_ very much alive  _and Spock's not stable right now!"_

Sulu spun in the chair to look behind him.

"Uhura," he started to say, then paused. She was already standing, headphone in hand and looking ready to bolt, an almost wild light shining behind her eyes.

"On it," she said, dropping the ear-piece and fleeing the bridge.

"Ze Keptin is alive?" Chekhov asked McCoy tentatively, as though afraid he'd misheard the doctor.

" _For the moment, yes, and I'm trying to keep him that way!"_  was the reply. The helmsman and navigator looked at each other, sharing smiles of wary relief.

* * *

"Computer, locate Commander Spock!" Uhura ordered as she slipped into the turbolift.

"Commander Spock is in his quarters," the computer replied.

"Why?" She shouted nonsensically. Unease crept through her, adding an edge of panic to her actions.

"Inquiry not understood. Please rephrase."

"Never mind," Uhura muttered. "Deck five!" she shouted, and the lift took off — far more slowly than she desired.

As soon as the doors slid open she bolted out and down the corridor toward Spock's quarters, nearly running over a distracted yeoman in the process. An inexplicable sense of unease came over her, urging her to get to Spock  _immediately_ , before it was too late - for what? Too late for what? Why was she suddenly inundated with feelings of dread and a guilt that hollowed out her insides?

She practically threw herself against the Vulcan's door to halt her mad dash through the halls, the abrupt stop almost knocking her onto her butt. The strange emotions roiling within her became sharper, more refined, and she suddenly realized they weren't hers — the  _anger/pain/shock/guilt/horror/loss/sorrow/hatred/grief/_ _ **pain**_  she could feel as a slightly removed-from-herself sensation belonged not to her, but to—

"Spock!" she shouted through the door, jabbing the button beside it repeatedly. "Spock, open up, they need you in sickbay!" There was no response, and the sense of urgency within her grew exponentially. "Spock, Kirk's alive, but McCoy needs you,  _now_!"

The strange feelings flared for a moment, becoming clearer — and then vanished completely, stealing her breath and leaving a blank emptiness in the back of her mind.

"Spock!" She cried fearfully. She hadn't noticed the telepathic impression of Spock in her mind before, but now that it wasn't there, its absense was obvious — and terrifying.

"Uhura to Bridge: Sulu, I need a security override on Spock's door,  _now_!" Sulu, thankfully, didn't question her, overriding the lock on the Commander's quarters immediately. The lieutenant nearly fell forward into the room as the doors opened, and then completed the fall, landing on her knees in response to the sight that met her eyes.

"Uhura to Sickbay: medical emergency in the Commander's quarters!"

" _Dammit Uhura, I've barely gotten Jim stabilized – what the hell's wrong now?"_  She could hear scrambling in the background as a medical team gathered and grabbed supplies.

Uhura stumbled back to her feet, trying not to slip in the bright green blood staining the floor as she moved closer to Spock, reaching out to touch him. He was Vulcan, his body temperature ran lower than hers, and his skin always felt cool to her - but the now the chill reminded her of death as it never had before.

"McCoy, he…he…"

" _Nyota, we're on our way, but it'll be a minute; what happened? Is the hobgoblin all right?"_

"No! He—" Uhura had an idea and switched channels on her communicator, cutting off McCoy who was still shouting about 'what the hell had happened to Spock.' "Uhura to Engineering: Scotty, can you beam Spock  _and_  Doctor McCoy  _directly_  to the Medbay?"

" _Uh, aye, if they've both got their communicators on them I can, but—"_

"Do it!" Uhura shouted, snatching Spock's communicator from the floor next to him and dropping it on his bloody chest as she scrambled away so as to not confuse the signals.

She switched her communicator back to McCoy's channel in time to hear the doctor sputtering.

" _What the—? How'd I get— Good God, Spock?" A beat of shocked silence, and then, "Nurse, prep for surgery,_ you _, get M'Benga over here NOW!"_ Uhura flicked her communicator closed and left Spock's quarters, running headlong for the Medbay, her eyes full of tears.

Her Captain and his First Officer; her friend and her boyfriend. They were both _dead_ or dying, and it didn't seem to matter which – she could feel the losses throbbing in her soul already. She and Kirk had never spoken about the friendship they'd developed, continuing to bicker as they always had, something she'd never regretted until now.

And Spock...he had no trouble being affectionate, actually; he touched her, he kissed her, he held her when they slept, but neither of them had ever spoken their feelings aloud, and she found herself regretting that too.

She'd been furious with him,  _hating_  him for using her, yet still  _loving_  him as she had for so long. Seeing him bleeding to death – after attempting suicide, no less! – shocked her into wondering if there was more going on than had appeared. She'd never forgive herself if he died and she didn't get the chance to sort things out.

Gaila was gone, Nyota's parents hadn't been in the picture for a long time, and she had no other family to speak of. If Jim and Spock died…she'd have no one left.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED:**

_Now that we're getting into the nitty-gritty, I'm getting better at posting. As always, thanks to my wonderful Beta! Have a prosperous and joyful year this year, everybody!_


	11. On Bonds and Vigils

Nyota hurtled through the Enterprise corridors, completely focused on getting to the Medbay. Her heart pounded in her ears in sharp counterpoint to the staccato rhythm of her flying feet. In her path crewmen flattened themselves against the bulkheads, some calling after her in concern as she careened by. In the back of her mind she was aware of their alarmed faces, but consumed by her panic she was unable to stop and reassure them, or even slow down.

Her mad dash carried her to the Medbay doors which parted just as she was about to crash into them. With a familiar  _whoosh_  they slid open, depositing her in the midst of more pandemonium than she'd seen since Khan. Blood stained the gleaming floor, pools and patches of red and green decorating the usually pristine Medbay in a gruesome mockery of merry hues. Nurses ran back and forth through the puddles, leaving sticky footprints in their wake as they slipped across the floor. Uhura halted abruptly, overcome by the barely controlled chaos.

The sight was nauseating and Uhura keened softly, the mournful cry of despair breaking from her throat without her consent. The blood-splattered room swirled around her and she staggered, almost falling through the Medbay doors before catching herself and leaning against a bulkhead, trembling.

Alarms blared, voices shouted, and suddenly, McCoy's southern accent rose above it all.

"I've got a pulse! Nurse, move him to the surgical bay!"

Something fluttered in the back of Nyota's mind, tiny and fragile, muted and agonized. She gasped at the feel of it, clawing for more of the fleeting sensation, some part of her recognizing it as important, as vital. It scrambled away from her presence, hiding, but still there. Without knowing quite how she did so, she clung to the fledgling spark, drawing it closer even as it weakly tried to wrench itself from her mind. The effort was overwhelming, and it sent her gracelessly to her knees.

"Lieutenant? Lieutenant!" The shouts rang around her ears as she was guided to her feet and settled into a chair, the familiar whirring of a tricorder sounding nearby. She didn't respond, too absorbed in clutching at the flicker of thought that wasn't hers.  Slowly, gradually, the flicker became a thread, slender and week but sturdy enough that she could hold onto it without fighting to keep bringing it back.

"Nyota!" Her name, accompanied by a sharp shake, was enough to startle her back into awareness, though she stubbornly refused to release the frail essence quivering in the back of her mind.

"Spock?" she asked, raising damp eyes to the haggard ones of McCoy, tears welling in them all over again.

"He's alive, for now," the doctor replied softly. "Almost lost him again in surgery, but  _something_  stabilized him, so M'Benga's getting him settled for observation." McCoy rubbed the back of his neck, slowly becoming aware of his painfully tense muscles. "I don't know what happened; almost as soon as I got his heart goin' again it started to fail. Jim calls me a miracle worker, but I didn't do anything; there wasn't anything that I  _could_  do. It just suddenly picked a rhythm and maintained it. It's not getting any stronger, but at least it's not cuttin' out either. Never seen anything like it." His voice trailed off in obvious exhaustion.

"I think that was me," she said shakily. "I could feel him in my mind, dying...and I kind of...I just refused to let him go."

"Vulcan mind-voodoo," McCoy grumbled, his habitual gruff attitude failing to hide his amazement. "Thank God for it. Didn't know you were bonded to him, Uhura," he said.

"Neither did I."

"Well, you keep hanging onto him, you hear?" She nodded sadly, suddenly realizing how still it was in the Medbay. The floor was clean again, no traces left of the shocking amounts of blood she'd seen upon arrival.

"How long have I been here?" she asked. "How's the Captain?"

"I'm not exactly sure when you arrived, but one of my nurses told me that she saw you collapse shortly after I took Spock into surgery. After finding your vitals fine, she diagnosed shock and deposited you on this here biobed with a blanket around you for comfort. You haven't spoken to anyone in a couple hours but are otherwise fine so the nurses simply have you under observation. As for Jim…" McCoy took a deep breath, letting it out with a shaky sigh. "He's a little better off than Spock. Kinda."

"What happened? Can I see him?" McCoy nodded, helping her off the biobed and keeping one hand cupped around her elbow.

"He's pretty banged up, I have to warn you. I had to put a force-plate in his head, so the top part of his skull's under a field projector; don't be alarmed by it. Physically, he's stable."

Uhura cast a sideways glance at the doctor as they approached the captain's bed and McCoy pulled the curtains aside so they could step through.

"But…"

"He took a nasty whack on the head, Nyota. He nearly bled out before I got him up here, but I managed to get that sorted in time, and we're re-growing part of his skull now. Barring infection or his idiotic immune system pitching a fit, he'll live."

"What aren't you telling me?" she asked in a thick voice as she gazed down at her Captain, tears forming at the sight of his body limp under the blankets, the top of his head hidden by a small metal arch that hummed softly. His skin was frighteningly pale, and the monitors of the biobed recorded his heart as just barely beating. A transfuser was chugging away to the side, replenishing his lost blood supply, and a respiratory aid was secured over his mouth.

McCoy hung his head and scrubbed both hands over his face, his palms obscuring the words as he spoke them.

"Jim sustained severe neuro-trauma," he said heavily. "His brain scans indicate that while his autonomous systems are functioning, his cognitive functions are virtually non-existent."

Uhura trembled, sitting down abruptly into the chair by Kirk's bed.

"Oh my God…" she whispered. "He's brain-dead?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Oh my God," she whispered again, dropping her head into her hands. "Leonard…what happened down there, on the planet?" She lifted her head, looking at him with sad, desperate eyes. "How did this happen? And why would Spock do this? What logical reason could he have to…to…to kill himself?!"

McCoy glanced sadly over at Kirk and then held up a finger to Nyota. "Let me grab another chair," he said, slipping away for a moment.

"Nyota," he began softly once he'd returned and taken a seat, "Spock…T'Pring, his 'wife', decided she didn't want him, so she challenged him and chose Jim as her champion." Uhura's eyes flicked up to his face, scowling with confusion and a touch of anger, as it was slightly obvious where the story was going. "No one told us it was a to-the-death thing—" Uhura gasped, because she _really_ hadn't been expecting that part, "—until it was too late for him to take it back, and he wouldn't have anyway because with the condition Spock's been in, I really don't think he could've taken any of the other guys T'Pring could have chosen if he'd turned her down. I guess figured he'd knock Spock out and refuse to kill him, and we'd all be good—"

"—But Spock won." McCoy wasn't surprised she'd figured it out.

"Yeah. When Spock hit him, I thought for sure he was dead; he bled out so quickly from that damn head wound he barely had a pulse! Luckily he  _did_  have one and I was able to hide it from the Vulcans."

"So they all thought the Captain was dead."

"Yeah, and Spock snapped right out of it at that point — he was really messed up by T'Pring rejecting him, Uhura, it had to have been some Vulcan telepathic-bio-chemical thing — and I shouted at him for a minute, beamed Jim back up here, and rushed him right into surgery. I'd barely gotten him stabilized before I got your call on the com."

"So Spock wrapped up whatever he had to with T'Pring down there, beamed up, went to his quarters, and, thinking he'd committed murder…"

"…decided to kill himself, yes." McCoy finished for Uhura. She'd composed herself quite successfully throughout the course of the re-telling, but her face was still lined with worry and stained with tears.

"But Vulcans haven't practiced executions in…centuries! Their punishment for crimes is imprisonment and a-a kind of-of gentle-healing, a mental thing!"

"And they generally use their mind to stop their hearts if they chose execution as well," McCoy added. "Nyota, for one, I don't think Spock is capable of stopping his own heart, being half-Vulcan, though I'm not entirely sure, and I would think that Spock probably figured on us not blaming him for his actions — surely the Vulcans didn't — and so he didn't figure he'd get any sort of punishment for what he did unless he did it himself."

Uhura thought about that for a moment, nodding slowly to herself, then frowning again as something caught her eye.

"M'Benga wants you," she said, gesturing to the other doctor who was standing by the curtain, peering in patiently. McCoy gestured him in.

"You can sit with him now, if you want," the Vulcan specialist said quietly. "He's not responsive, but it can't hurt, having you there."

"Actually, apparently Uhura here has a hook-up to the hobgoblin's mind, maybe she can snap him out of it." M'Benga turned wide-eyes to her.

"You're bonded?"

"Apparently. It's news to me, but I can feel him, in a way…"

The specialist nodded. "That could help. Make sure you touch him, when you talk to him. Push at that space in your mind, try to wake him up - maybe try telling him Kirk's alive, see if that helps."

"I'll do my best," she said, standing. M'Benga led her away, leaving McCoy sitting by Kirk, staring at his captain and friend.

"Is that even true? Are you even really alive in there, Jim?" McCoy sniffled once, scrubbing a fist over his eyes before banging it down onto the biobed next to the Captain. "Damnit, Jim, if anyone can survive anything then it's you who can survive this.  _Wake the fuck up_ , okay?" His voice broke and he sagged forward, the top of his head resting against Jim's hip.

"I can't survive five years in the black without you."

Outside the curtain, unknown to McCoy, M'Benga hung his head and Uhura pressed a hand over her mouth as she silently cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for putting up with how long this took to get posted. I actually got injured/almost killed by a car, and then my keyboard died and I had to order a new one, so I got a bit caught up over here.
> 
> On the other side, long chapter to make up for it...and hopefully it's a particularly good one.


	12. Illogical Hopes

"Bridge to Doctor McCoy."

" _McCoy here. This better be important, Sulu."_  The lieutenant grimaced at the frustration in McCoy's voice. Sitting in the Chair while Kirk and Spock were unavailable was simple enough for him; dealing with the emotional strain of having both commanding officers dying several decks below his feet was beyond his expertise. The concern he felt for them grated on his nerves, leaving him emotionally raw and beyond weary. Silently reminding himself that the doctor was under at least as much stress as he was - probably more, given his role in trying to save the lives of the two men, one of whom was his best friend - he chose his words carefully, keeping his tone level.

"Ambassadors Sarek and Selek are beaming aboard to see Spock," he replied, bracing himself for McCoy's angry reply.

" _What?!"_  The sound of various items clattering to the floor rattled through the comm. " _Sulu, Spock is on full life support; he's in no condition to receive visitors!"_

"It's his son, Sir," Sulu replied quietly. "Sarek was most insistent and I have no authority to deny his request."

* * *

McCoy fumed, completely ignoring proper comm protocol and cutting the connection abruptly.

"Sarek's fine," he growled at the nearest orderly, "but that time-travelin', universe-alterin', secret-keepin' murderin' bastard can wait out in the damn hallway!"

"Um, Sir?" the orderly asked, confused. McCoy threw up his hands in frustration, having momentarily forgotten that the identity and ordeal of Spock Prime was anything but common knowledge.

"Let the angry-stoic one in, keep the old fart with the puppy-dog eyes out!"

McCoy stormed back into his office, settling into his chair with a heavy thump. Wordlessly he stared at the silent screen before him. He examined the bio-readout yet again, Jim's slowly beating pulse barely registering while just above it the infinitesimal flickering of the formerly vibrant captain's higher brain functions mocked him.

No change.

The readout blurred as his tired eyes began to cross; he could almost hear Spock's metronomic voice informing him of the inherent illogic in staring at the display, hoping the data would spontaneously change, but he couldn't help it - hope for a miracle was all he had left.

The doctor exhaled quietly, dropping his head into his hands with an aching sigh. He had done everything medically possible for Jim, and indeed, there was no remaining physical damage. Rationally he knew that there was nothing more he could do, but in spite of his efforts, the captain's brainwaves remained virtually non-existent.

The helplessness was crushing, and McCoy could feel himself cracking under the strain.

The sound of his office door chiming brought him out of his despondency and he looked up into the shuttered eyes of Spock's father. Without preamble, the Vulcan asked the one question McCoy was the least equipped and most unwilling to answer.

"What has befallen my son?"

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED:

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the short chapter and long wait, guys, but don't worry, the next couple-ish (working on chapter breaks, not sure where they'll fall) are with my lovely Beta already, and should be done soon.
> 
> I've been gone for a while because in the last couple months, my grandmother died, my dog had to be put down, I've switched jobs, and I've needed to replace my keyboard twice. So it's been tough over here. Sorry for keeping all of you waiting so long.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to my grandmother; I really wish I'd been able to make you proud of me. You'll never get to see my name in print, and that makes me sad.


	13. I Think, and Yet...

_He drifted along in a vague state of being - not asleep, but not really awake either. The sensation was familiar - unpleasant, but familiar. A faint odor wafted across his face, tickling his nose and sparking recognition. Medbay, that was it. He often woke up in Medbay... The staticky smell of the sterilization fields Bones insisted upon prickled at his nose, making him want to sneeze. He tried to screw his eyes further shut; the lights above him were too bright, driving through his eyelids and exacerbating the ache building steadily in his head._

_Where was Bones? Bones knew how sensitive his eyes were; Bones never would've left the light level so high. Panic flared in his chest — what had happened? Was Bones hurt? He scrambled for memory. Spock. Vulcan, duel — if Jim had been hurt, Bones would've intervened. What if Spock had hurt Bones, what if the Vulcans had been angry with him for interfering in their ritual?_

Shit.  _Jim struggled to sit up, growing more and more panicked as his body refused to respond. The slow, steady beep of the bio-bed frightened and infuriated him; he felt as though his heart should be_ racing _, not plodding along quietly as though his mind was peacefully asleep._

_He strained for sound, for the press of a hand against his own, for any other sensation that could help him figure out what was going on._

_There was nothing._

* * *

Nyota bent over the still form of her boyfriend - she wasn't certain why she still thought of him as her boyfriend, after what he'd put her through - and put her face close to his.

"I don't know what I want more," she muttered. "For you to wake up so that I can kiss you, or for you to wake up so that I can  _slap_  you!"

"What has my son done that you seek to cause him physical harm?" The low, solemn voice made her jump, and her ebony skin flushed with sudden shame.

"Besides not telling me that he's practically  _married_  and then abandoning me  _again_  by trying to kill himself?" she replied, hurt and fury dancing a mad tango through her tone. "Human emotions are so complicated," she sighed. "I'm just so  _angry_  with him for all of this…if he wasn't already hurt, I might just hit him, but I'd never do it with him so badly injured."

"You may yet have the opportunity to vent your anger without causing him further harm," Sarek said, moving to stand by Spock. "Vulcans often require a forceful external stimulus to assist in waking from a healing trance. A sharp slap is often used to provide such stimulation."

"Did you just give me  _permission_  to smack your son?" Nyota asked, pent-up fear and anxiety combining to rob her of her diplomatic foundations, leaving her jaw hanging in disbelief.

"Yes."

"Oh."

"But we must convince him to enter such a trance before such a thing can happen," the ambassador continued.

"If only we could force him into it," Nyota sighed.

"It may be possible to do so," Sarek replied.

"What? How?"

"Vulcan mind-voodoo," McCoy muttered from behind her. Nyota jumped, having been unaware of the doctor's presence in the room.

"Isn't that a job for a mind-healer?" she asked nervously.

"Generally, yes," was the reply. "However, no one alive is more attuned to Spock's mind than I, myself, and healers are in short supply. If he will not listen to his father, to whom will he listen?"

Sarek leaned over Spock's bio-bed, settling his fingers onto his son's meld points, and closed his eyes.

"What now?" Nyota asked McCoy.

"We wait and see what happens."

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED:

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, another chapter. :) The next one just got sent to my darling Dottie, so it should be up in a couple days. I decided not to break these two bits up, give you a bit longer chapter.
> 
> Thank you all for your kind thoughts regarding my grandmother's passing.
> 
> Marie


	14. The Torment of Spock

_Spock…Spock…_

The darkness of Spock's mind was unsettling; closed, confined, smothering in its absolute emptiness, an endless wasteland of shattered ground and swirling dust. It was obvious to Sarek that this destruction had been growing within his son for some time, encroaching upon the bright caverns of intellect and purpose that had once filled the younger Vulcan.

The desecration was painful, agonizing in its completeness. The merest threads of life twisted through the haze, minute echoes of the bonds tying Spock to life — his love for Nyota, his attachment to his father, his loyalty to the Enterprise and Captain Kirk. They drifted through the air, appearing and disappearing, wavering in and out of sight like light catching on wisps of smoke.

There was order to the flickering tendrils, though; they all came from the same source, spreading out from a central point, guiding Sarek to their nexus, the manifestation of what remained of his son.

_Spock_ , he called, his eyes alighting on a darker patch amid the swirling dust. The mass gained shape as Sarek drew near, coalescing into the form of Spock, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them like a frightened child.

On the cracked earth before him lay his own eviscerated heart.

The scene was symbolic, a representation, and thus, not particularly gory. There was no blood, only a lump of flesh and a dark hole in Spock's flank where the organ ought to reside. Spock was trembling, staring at the heart, watching in near panic as it continued to beat sluggishly, unnaturally rhythmic, as though pumped manually, driven by an unfeeling hand instead of the reactive systems of a body.

It was visceral, wrenching, and Sarek found himself deeply moved by his son's pain.

_Spock_ , he murmured, sinking to his knees by the other, dust billowing up around him.  _My son…why have you done this?_

_For the crime of which I am guilty, there can be no forgiveness._

_Your companions disagree. They struggle fiercely to save you._

_I know._  Spock gestured absently at the beating heart lying at his feet.  _It lives on, though I have no part of it._

_Regret is an emotion, Spock, and as such contrary to your upbringing as a Vulcan. You are emotionally compromised and reacting in an illogical manner. To heal your mind you must first heal your body. It is imperative that you enter a healing trance immediately. Your companions agree that it is not right that you should die._

_Regret may be illogical, Father; however, forgiveness is essential, and there can be none for me._

_The fire of pon farr cannot be underestimated nor can it be controlled. No Vulcan is culpable for what he does in the throes of its passion, and no Man can be held to account for actions beyond his control._

_I have killed my captain. Whether by intent or not, the deed was done by my hand, and there must be consequences._

_Captain Kirk yet lives._

There was a flare of hope on Spock's face, a slight settling of the swirling dust clouds, a leveling of the cracked earth.

_Indeed?_

_Yes, though while your Dr. McCoy surgically repaired the physical wounds, the captain's mind remains damaged beyond his abilities. Captain Kirk remains in a deep coma._

The landscape splintered worse than before, the hope crumpling into anguish.

_For such an act, death is an insufficient punishment._

_Spock, your crewmates have suffered a great loss and yet offer you their forgiveness. In their eyes, you are absolved of any guilt. They, and I, wish for you to continue to live. Does that mean nothing to you?_

_They are driven by obligation, by duty, as are you. It is their responsibility to attempt to save my life, as it is yours to protect your offspring._

_You undervalue yourself. Our actions are not the product of obligation, but of a desire for you to be whole and well and part of our lives._

_I have no value. I am a violent creature, one filled with murder who leaves failure in his wake._

_I fail to comprehend that statement._

_Mother died. Vulcan died. I assaulted Khan. I killed — I as good as killed — my captain. I am a pitiful excuse for a Vulcan, the worst example of a human. I am no credit to either race from which I came._

_How long has this guilt plagued you, my son? Have such illogical thoughts been in your mind since your mother perished?_

_I attempted to give my life then, to crash the jellyfish into the Narada. Jim saved me._

_And what does that tell you?_

_That my companions do not see my value clearly._

_Perhaps it is you who has a clouded vision. You are yet able to heal yourself, Spock. Regrets are illogical, mistakes the past. Were your mother here with us, she would no doubt point out that she is proud of everything you have accomplished, and insist that you survive and continue those efforts._

_How can I live when my captain, my friend, lies forever in death that is not death?_

_Would he not desire your continued existence?_

_He desires nothing. He has no mind with which to desire it._

_That was not what I asked you._

_It is, however, the truth._

The ground between them began to crack open, a rift forming before Sarek that turned the inches separating him from Spock into feet, and then yards. A chasm yawned before him, growing rapidly wider until Sarek was being thrown back through the smoke-filled air and out of the meld entirely.

"What happened!?" a female voice cried, large, warm hands seizing his shoulders as he crumpled toward the Medbay floor.

"How the Hell should I know?" a male voice replied from just behind him. The male was the one gripping him, guiding him into a sitting position, keeping him from striking his head. Smaller, but just as warm, hands patted his cheeks, giving him sharp little slaps that helped guide him back to his senses. Shrugging out of the man's grip, he rose to his feet, casting a weary gaze on the doctor and lieutenant, who stepped back to give him space.

"Spock is within, however he has no desire for healing. He threw me from the meld."

"It cost him," McCoy said quietly, his face drawn. "Even with the life support, his heart just about failed. I'm worried about its effects on you, Ambassador. Please, let me check you over."

Sarek complied, settling into Uhura's abandoned chair while McCoy scanned him. He examined the bio-readout above Spock's bed, noting the appallingly low numbers.

"You've got the vitals of someone who just ran a marathon, but I think you'll be all right. They're already stabilizing," the doctor concluded after a minute. He snapped the tricorder shut. "So. What do we do about Spock?" he asked.

"I believe he would need to be absolved by the Captain himself for Spock to agree to healing," Sarek replied, his sadness tightly reined in so that none colored his voice.

McCoy cursed. Uhura hung her head, tears stinging at the backs of her eyes. If the Captain was Spock's only hope, then there was truly no hope to be had for him.

"I wish to meld with Captain Kirk," Sarek said suddenly. Uhura's head snapped up, eyes flicking between the bewildered McCoy and the serene Vulcan.

"What good would that do?"

"Perhaps the damage to his mind can be healed in another way than through conventional human medicine. Additionally, if there is even a spark of the Captain's katra within him, it may be enough to give Spock his absolution."

"You're saying that maybe you can heal the captain - and if some part of Kirk is still functioning in there, some part we can't measure or reach, maybe he could give Spock a message, tell him to get better?" Uhura felt her heart racing and tried to breathe slowly, fighting against the crushing weight of hope.

"Affirmative."

McCoy looked hard at Sarek, judging him, examining with his doctor's eye. The Vulcan was showing the barest, most minute signs of fatigue and stress; a line by the corner of his eye, the hint of a shadow below, the merest bend in that rigid spine. He sighed.

"All right, you can try." Sarek stood in one smooth motion. "BUT, I want you to rest first. Half an hour of meditation, at least."

Sarek raised one eyebrow at the doctor, but nodded after a moment. "I will do so here, then, if that is acceptable."

"Go for it." McCoy gestured Uhura out of the room, leaving Sarek to sink gracefully into a sitting position by his son's bed, falling deeply into a restorative meditation that would hopefully strengthen him enough to find Captain Kirk's soul inside his broken mind.

* * *

Mindscape Images: (Screengrabs from "Pixel Perfect" movie produced by Disney. If anybody attached to Disney ever sees this, promise I'm not making any money off of it, and thank you very much for one of my favorite scenes out of my childhood. Please do consider this a transformative work, if you like. :)

  
  
  


TO BE CONTINUED:

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my favorite chapter to write so far. The next one is will my beta, so hopefully you'll continue to have updates for a while.  
> Oh, and if anyone wanted to be incredible, they might think about making some fanart for me of Spock in this chapter...specifically his mindscape with his heart on the ground.  
> The inspiration for the mindscape, if anyone's interested, came from an old Disney movie called Pixel Perfect. In the end, the MC has brain damage, and the visual of her trapped in her mind was what inspired the descriptions of Spock's mindscape.  
> I'll try to post some images if I can find them.


	15. On Fury and the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Early AN here.
> 
> Many of you will probably have issues with my characterization in this chapter, and I feel I owe you guys a bit of an explanation/apology.
> 
> I'm still deeply struggling with the passing of my grandmother -- and not for the reasons you'd expect. She and I never got along, and so much of me is broken up because I've great reason to believe that she hated me. My relationship with her is the source of the most deeply rooted pain in my soul, and it leaked into this chapter.
> 
> For the life of me, I can't bear to put it back.
> 
> I waver -- I have for years -- between loving her and hating her (is it possible to do both?). My beta pointed out that parts of this chapter hurt because they're true, and I can't deny that.
> 
> See, I want to collapse into numbness like Uhura gets to. I want to rage like Bones (boy, do I want to rage), and yet I want to grieve like Selek. 
> 
> The problem is, with all that going on, I feel most like Sarek, sucked into emotional webs that I didn't ask for and can't avoid. My heart lies bloody at my feet, beating jerkily without my consent, mine, but not part of me.
> 
> So bear with me, because right now, this is the best I've got.

McCoy engaged the privacy lock on the door to Spock's room, turning around just in time to catch Uhura by the elbow as she swayed on her feet. Placing his other arm around her, he guided her into the main wing of the Medbay

"Lieutenant…Nyota," he said with uncharacteristic softness, "We just treated you for shock a few hours ago — I'd rather not have to treat you for exhaustion too. I want you to lie down for a bit, all right?"

She started to protest, but McCoy pushed her onto a bio-bed and waved a finger in her face, his brow drawn into a concerned frown. "Don't argue; I'll wake you up as soon as anything changes, I promise."

She nodded, slipping off her boots and pulling up her legs. As she lay her head on the pillow, McCoy turned off the bed's sensors and covered her with the blanket folded by her feet, tucking her in like a small child. He patted her on the arm, making sure to pull a privacy curtain around the bed and dim the light over her unit —  _lights._

_He'd forgotten to dim Jim's lights._

McCoy mentally kicked himself; Jim was overly sensitive to light — a common enough issue in light-eyed people, of which Jim was an exceptional case — and so McCoy generally left the lights above his bed no higher than sixty percent. He headed for the ICU where Jim lay, ignoring the Spock-like voice in his head reminding him that Jim could no longer care about the light levels, let alone complain.

The sight that greeted him upon entering the room turned his mild self-flagellation into blazing fury; the lights had been lowered — by none other than the bastard who'd caused all McCoy's troubles in the first place.

The doctor turned to the orderly hovering in the corner of the room, narrowing his eyes as he recognized the man he'd specifically ordered to keep this particular Vulcan  _out of his goddamn Medbay_.

"I told you not to let this one in, did I not?" He snarled, jabbing an accusing finger in Selek's direction. The orderly quailed.

"S-sir—"

"Consider yourself on report, and get the Hell out of my Medbay!" The officer fled, leaving the Ambassador to McCoy's wrath. Selek turned slowly, fixing his chocolate eyes on the doctor.

"It may have been presumptuous, however, I altered the lighting in this room," he began. "My Jim—"

" _THIS ISN'T YOUR JIM_!" McCoy shouted. " _Your_  Jim got through this, didn't he? He survived this mess just fine somehow, am I right,  _Selek_?" He drawled the name, using his accent and his anger to sully the sounds as best he could. This Vulcan may have been Spock first, but he wasn't worthy enough to lick Spock's boots, as far as McCoy was concerned, and he wanted to be sure the other knew it.

"The McCoy of my time intervened," Selek replied, the lines around his eyes deepening. "During a pause in the duel between Jim and myself, he administered what he claimed was a Tri-Ox compound to Jim, in the guise of aiding his ability to breathe the Vulcan atmosphere. It was, in reality, a neuro-paralyzer, which quickly forced Jim into a state of simulated death."

"Good God, man — no wonder you kept looking at me like I was supposed to do something!" McCoy dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his palms over the scratchy evidence of the many hours he'd gone between doing normal things like resting and shaving. His shoulders trembled, and he pulled himself together swiftly, not wanting this sorry excuse for Spock to see him distressed.

"Damn it, do you see what you could've prevented by telling us about this in the first place?! Or at least Spock, if not all of us? Jim's  _allergic_  to neuro-paralyzers; that's not even supposed to be  _possible_ , but I did the tests on his blood myself — and since the Khan debacle, his auto-immune responses have been even more volatile than before!" McCoy threw his arms in the air, his face turning red as he worked himself into a frenzy. "I had a better chance of putting down  _Spock_  than Jim down there, you idiot — and what was your McCoy doing with a  _neuro-fucking-paralyzer_  in his medkit on that kind of mission anyway!? That's not a standard drug in any kit that I've ever heard of!"

Selek stepped forward, holding his hands up, palms out, trying to forestall McCoy before his tirade went further.

"I understand your grief, and I grieve with thee," he said softly, the lines around his eyes crevasses of sorrow. "I could not in good conscience interfere; even now, I stand by my decision as I made it — though, had I to do it again, knowing the outcome, I am uncertain that I could resist warning you."

McCoy laughed lowly, the sound empty of all humor.

"Too little, too late," he said roughly. "Jim's brain-dead and Spock is going to die. I hold you  _personally_  responsible, and don't think that Starfleet and everyone else won't hear about it! You drove the best damn First Officer in the fucking Fleet to  _suicide_  — not even the loss of his mother and his whole goddamn  _planet_  damaged him so much, and all you can say is that if you could do it differently you  _might_!?"

Selek's head snapped up from where it had been bowed under the force of McCoy's rage.

" _I know Spock's grief_ ," he intoned, dark eyes boring into the doctor's. "When I thought I had killed my Jim, my human half broke, but my Vulcan half  _shattered_. It was the antithesis of all that I had come to be, the act of murdering my best friend, the man to whom I had pledged my loyalty. All my logic, all my control had failed me, and I also intended to take my own life. Had my Captain not been alive in Sickbay where I found Leonard and requested him to make final arrangements for Jim, I would not have lived past that day. I told T'Pau as much; that I intended to neither live long nor prosper."

The flare of emotion in Selek's eyes burned with the hurt coloring his words, and McCoy felt the slightest bit chastised — which only enraged him further.

"I wish you had died, bastard. I wish you'd ended yourself, because then you never would've fucked up so bad that  _our_  Vulcan got sucked into a black hole and the two best men I've ever met are slipping through my fingers.

"Now;  _Get out of my Medbay."_

Selek left without another word, casting a sad glance at Jim before he slipped through the door, closing it softly behind him.

McCoy's legs trembled as the adrenaline fled his system, and he collapsed onto the bed by Jim's feet, shaking. Already he regret his words to the old Vulcan, yet at the same time, he felt justified in saying them. Just because they weren't kind, didn't mean that they weren't  _true_.

The door opened again and he tensed, ready to do battle with the old Vulcan once more, but the smooth baritone of M'Benga's voice reached his ears.

"Sarek says he's ready to meld with the Captain," the other doctor said. McCoy nodded absently.

"How do you feel about being CMO on the flagship, Geoff?" He asked after a moment.

M'Benga stepped closer, his brow furrowed.

"Leonard?"

McCoy sighed deeply.

"Jim's not coming out of this one," he said sadly. "And he's got nobody else, you know? Just us, just this crew. Just me." He raised reddening eyes to his co-worker, hands gripped firmly on his knees. "He'll need long-term care, and I'm going to give it to him."

"Leonard…Len…you can't just give up your commission."

"Geoff, I came out here for Jim. I followed  _Jim_  out into the black, and nobody else, for no other reason than to keep his fool ass safe. I failed in that, and this is the least I can do for him.

"There's nothing out here for me, not without Jim."

M'Benga put a hand on McCoy's shoulder, squeezing gently.

"You know I'd take great care of the  _Enterprise_  and her crew for you, Len," he said, "but it won't come to that. You'll see."

McCoy patted the younger man's hand.

"I hope you're right, Geoff. I hope to God you're right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE CONTINUED


	16. Excavation

 McCoy stared down at the motionless figure of Jim Kirk and sniffled softly. Gone was any pretense of detached CMO examining a patient; the doctor in him was buried deeply under the heartbroken man aching for his best friend. He felt lost, adrift, more alone and vulnerable than he had on the day he’d met Jim, newly divorced and alienated from the only life he’d known.

He sighed, curling his fingers more tightly around Jim’s hand. How could he bear the vast weight of the universe without his friend there to steady him, to shore him up and convince him that he was more than a miserable, half-drunken excuse for a man?

“I was unaware that you held my son in such high regard.”

McCoy jumped slightly, not having heard Sarek enter. He moved his hand surreptitiously away from where it had been resting on Jim’s, turning to face the Vulcan. He’d been expecting Sarek, but hadn’t been able to resist reaching out to his friend in his own way one more time.

“What do you mean?” he asked gruffly. “Can’t stand the Hobgoblin.”

Sarek raised one eyebrow, and the resemblance to Spock was like a direct cardio-stim. McCoy’s heart wrenched, and he looked away, rubbing his chest.

“Only a being equipped with a superior sense of hearing would have been aware of more than your raised voice. As a Vulcan, I was thus able to understand your words to Selek clearly through the ventilation system.” McCoy swore softly, eyeing the life support vent in the ceiling above the door.

“Well, don’t tell him,” he said stiffly. “I’d never live it down.”

The eyebrow rose higher, Sarek clearly not understanding the phrase.

“Is he aware of your admiration?”

McCoy sighed.

“I think so. I hope so. You never know with him, but Spock takes everything I throw at him and tosses it right back, so I think he gets it. Besides, he invited me to be his co-best-man at his not-really-a-wedding, so that has to mean something, right?”

The second eyebrow joined the first, and McCoy sighed.

“It’s a figure of speech...we never really throw things back and forth, not unless it’s necessary for some reason. I just mean that I grouch at him, and he snarks back.”

“I see.”

He probably didn’t, but that was okay. McCoy sighed, folding his arms across his chest defensively.

“Look, I’m going to level with you for a minute, okay?” he said. “I don’t do emotions any better than you do. You Vulcans feel so deeply that I worry how you survive it sometimes. You don’t express things; that’s fine, I don’t either. It looks like it, because I’m always snarling at everybody, but that’s not what really goes on. You logic your feelings into submission; I growl at mine.

“So I snarl at the Hobgoblin, and I think he gets what’s really going on because if I were to hug the pointy-eared computer he’d probably pass out. At the end of the day, I know that he’ll throw himself between me and a kill-set phaser for the same reason that I’ll put his guts back inside him in the right order -- and last among those reasons is ‘duty’.

“And I touch him. Not too often, not too much, but I am his doctor, and I make sure to connect with his skin every now and then, just for a moment, so that he can sense my...regard. I was mad at him for so long, what with him marooning Jim and then strangling him on the bridge -- God, until I realized he’d had two other individual’s hands wrapped around his throat, I was _furious_ at Spock for doing so much damage to the kid -- and when Jim asked what Spock would do if it had been _Jim_ in that volcano, I said he’d let Jim die even though I knew even then that there was no way that’d ever happen.

“That’s what makes him the best First Officer in the ‘Fleet, Sir; Spock doesn’t see himself as more important than anyone else. He is cold and logical, but the founding rule of that logic is that no one is expendable -- except himself, which pisses me off. He’s one of the most honorable and noble men that I know, and out of the handful of people I’ve met that I admire, he comes second only to Jim Kirk, and only just.”

 

Speech finished, McCoy stood and began changing settings on Jim’s bio-bed.

“That said,” he continued firmly, “let’s try and get the green-blooded pain-in-the-ass back on his feet, shall we? I want to monitor both you and Jim, so if you could put this on, we can get started.” He handed a small sensor to Sarek, who immediately secured it to the side of his neck and sank into the chair McCoy had vacated, reaching out a hand to find Jim’s meld points. When he was ready, he looked to the doctor. McCoy nodded once solemnly, then turned to watch the readouts on the screen above the bed.

“My mind, to your mind…”

 

_The lights had dimmed finally, easing both the pain building behind Jim’s eyes and the fear brooding its way through his heart. The space around him was still, quiet, and yet he sensed a presence with him, something taking up space in his vicinity. He couldn’t feel it, hear it, was unable to open his eyes and seek it out, but somehow he knew it was alive, a sentient thing, an emotional thing. It was as though the lack of traditional senses had opened him to a new awareness, and with it, he experienced distant tremors of guilt, fear, sorrow, affection, pain._

_An explosion of sound invaded the silence as his ears registered a voice which could only belong to Bones launching into a vicious tirade against Jim’s quiet watcher. The measureless fury boiling out of the doctor stunned Jim, the violence of his words a direct contradiction to the gruff-but-gentle personality of McCoy._

_When it was over, and silence had filled the space again, a warm hand wrapped around Jim’s. It was the first tactile sensation he’d experienced in so long that he jumped -- except his body didn’t move with the anticipated reaction to his surprise. Beside him, Bones sniffled._

Bones! _he cried out in the silence of his mind, desperate to console his friend._ It’ll be fine, Bones. It will. _Another voice intruded into the stillness, this one soft and sadly calm. Jim recognized M’Benga, and Bones' conversation with him ripped at the captain’s heart._ Stay, Bones, stay, _he thought._ You can’t give up everything just for me! You’re wasted as a hospice nurse, you know that! _If they’d been functioning, he was certain his eyes would be filling with tears._

 _Sarek’s conversation with Bones a few minutes later, however, had Jim bursting into an internal smile of deep satisfaction._ I KNEW you liked Spock, _he thought,_ I knew it!

_His exaltation quickly gave way to panic-tinged excitement as he realized what was about to happen. The memory of Selek’s mind-meld frightened him, but unlike Spock Prime’s overflowing sea of grief and information, Sarek’s mind was ordered, calm, and detached from Jim’s. Even so, the captain could feel raw edges of pain scraping at him, their sharp points dripping with concern and worry for Spock._

_Jim basked for a moment, caught up in the uniqueness of the contact -- and then he attacked Sarek, throwing his mind at the Vulcan, desperate to be recognized, to be heard._

I’m here! I’m here I’m here I’m here! _He cried._ I’m awake, I’m alive! Help me! Don’t let Bones leave the ship, he can’t sacrifice his career like that! How is Spock, isn’t he better now, why are you worried about him? _The thoughts were beyond his control, exploding outward in a rush, and suddenly Sarek’s presence was ripped from Jim’s mind._

 

When the Vulcan wrenched himself away from Jim, trembling, McCoy’s heart lurched and plummeted, landing somewhere in the bottom of his stomach and quivering painfully. Jim’s mind was a wasteland, he thought, a sucking void of shattered, bloody bones where knowledge and memory and life had used to reside.

“It would appear that Captain Kirk is, in fact, conscious,” Sarek said, “and most concerned about your decision to leave the ship in addition to Spock’s well-being.”

“What!?” McCoy’s heart leapt back into place, beating a wild tapdance against his ribs. “That’s not possible, his scans--”

“I am not qualified to hypothesize the reasons behind Kirk’s medical readouts,” Sarek said, “however, if the captain would _refrain from shouting at me this time_ , I will conduct another meld and endeavor to discover why they do not align with his current neurological state.”

McCoy nodded dumbly, noting the pointed stare Sarek gave Kirk when he mentioned the shouting. A blossom of hope unfurled in the doctor’s heart, petals fluttering against the inside of his chest as he contemplated the idea that his friend might just make it out of this alive, healthy, and sane.

 

_The mind brushed against his again, and Jim struggled to reach out slowly, gently, easily, to NOT SHOUT and scare the presence away once more. Sarek caught his mental tendrils deftly, pulling on them and sliding their thoughts together._

_A cavern opened up around Jim. It was absolutely dark, yet even without light he could see tunnels branching off in every direction, their arched entrances buried under rubble._

What is this? _Jim wondered. Sarek appeared beside him in the darkness._

It is your mindscape, Captain, _he said._ Currently, it is shaped by both your conscious and subconscious interpretations of your own mind, as well as my telepathic understanding of it.

I see. _Jim looked around, walking up to one of the ornate stone arches, brushing careful fingers over the stones that filled it._ I think I’m...broken. Trapped.

Indeed. However, I believe the damage can be repaired.

That’s awesome, but how? _Jim wasn’t trying to be rude, but it seemed far too simple for them to just_ imagine _him better, and he wasn’t certain what else could be done in an artificial mental construct._

The construct is only artificial insofar as that it is not entirely real, _Sarek said, answering Jim’s thoughts -- something which made the captain deeply uneasy._ It is more of an interface than anything else. It would appear that the pathways which allow your _katra_ , your ‘self’ to connect with your body are blocked in some fashion. _The Vulcan’s voice was oddly layered, dual-toned, echoing, and suddenly Jim realized that he was hearing Sarek speak both within his mind and outside it. He must be relaying the information to someone...Bones!_

Yes, the doctor is most excited by this information. He says that his scans have shown no swelling or other blockages, but he wonders if perhaps we can locate and possibly remove the block.

How would we do that?

Imagine reaching out to him, speaking with him, being awake and interactive. Focus on the tunnel that would take you to him.

I don’t know which one it is!

You do not have to _know_. Focus, Captain.

_Jim frowned, closing his eyes and creating a picture of Bones in his mind, watching himself reach out and clap his friend on the shoulder, slap him on the back, grab him in a hug, simply shake his hand. Something shivered along his senses and he looked, seeing the rocks surrounding one destroyed arch rattle as the carved stone began to glow faintly._

There! _Sarek said, triumph coloring his tone._ Now, to clear it. _The Vulcan strode over to the cave-in and began pulling at the stones, throwing them aside. They disappeared as they left his hands._

_Amazed, Jim joined him, the rocks proving to be almost weightless as he unburied the archway, its glow lighting up the cave gently as it was revealed._

It is undamaged, _Sarek said._ This is good.

 _In the background, Jim began to hear Bones' voice muttering excitedly. It was as though his ears had been frozen and were slowly thawing, more sounds than he’d previously been aware of seeping into the cave through the passageway they were unclogging. The general noise of the Medbay filtered in along with the rattle of McCoy moving around, shouting numbers and instructions to the nurses who Jim could finally hear -- could finally_ feel _._

A warm hand with chilled fingers wrapped around his left wrist, pressed to his pulse-point; even cooler fingers were pressed firmly into his face, splayed out and trembling slightly; a large, calloused hand rested gently in his hair; a hypospray discharged into his neck, its sharp pain a welcome discomfort.

_The rocks filling the arch crumbled into dust, leaving an open passage, dark and empty, lying before them. Jim peered down it, disappointed._

I was expecting...well, more than an empty tunnel, _he said._

The connection must be re-established, _Sarek replied._ Imagine-- _Jim’s mind beat him to it, conjuring a silver-white cord that hung suspended in the air of the tunnel. Jim looked behind himself, expecting to see another strand in the large cavern, but there was nothing. He looked around for a moment, considering...and then reached out, seizing the cord with both hands and drawing it to his chest._

 _It flared, expanded, sent tendrils shooting forward to sink into his skin, burrowing painlessly through his chest to spread throughout his body, filling him with sensation:_ fabric on his skin, sheets and the scratchy paper-gown of the Medbay; beeping from the bio-monitors; the hum of the ship under him; the lemon-sharp smell of disinfectant and sterilization fields; the sting of too-bright lights drilling into his closed eyes; the taste of morning-mouth and bile pooling in the back of his throat.

“Jim?” The fingers on his face withdrew, the cavern and crumbled passages shifting briefly to sun-lit fields that faded into the color-burst darkness behind his eyelids. He struggled to open his mouth, muscles stiff and aching as he finally pulled his teeth apart, tried to speak -- and burst into hacking coughs.

“Hold on, Jim, I’ve got some water here for you, let’s just sit you up a bit, there you go…” the bio-bed was elevated, a warm hand moving from his head to the back of his neck, adjusting the angle of his torso so that he could breathe more easily. A straw settled against his lips and he curled them around it, sipping slowly. He wasn’t thirsty -- probably because the IV he could feel in his arm was keeping him hydrated -- but his mouth was dry and stale.

“Slowly, Jim, slowly,” Bones cautioned unnecessarily. Jim could hear the creaking of his friend’s voice, understood that the doctor needed something to cling to, something professional and distant to help him keep his composure. Jim’s heart twisted for his friend.

“Bones,” he coughed, pulling away from the straw. “Bones…”  
“I’m here kid, it’s okay. Oh, _crap_ , lights, sixty percent!” The light dimmed, and Jim cracked his eyes open, looking at the haggard face of the man who’d saved his life countless times. Blue gaze met blue, one watery and lined, the other sparkling and clouded at the same time.

The doctor’s ever-snarling face burst into a smile that Jim met weakly.

“Good to have you back, Kid,” Bones said.

“I didn’t go anywhere.”

“Sure seemed like it on our end. If it weren’t for Sarek here…” Jim looked over at the doctor’s gesture, and the Vulcan inclined his head to the captain gracefully.

“I am gratified to see you awake, Captain Kirk,” he said solemnly. “It is a most welcome development. If you will excuse me, I must now see to my son.”

Sarek left the room. Casting glances back and forth at each other, the nurses filed out as well.

“Bones?” Jim asked warily. “What’s going on? What did he mean, he has to ‘see to’ Spock? Shouldn’t he be better now?”

McCoy turned away slightly, not meeting the captain’s eyes. He hadn’t wanted to be the one to explain the situation to Jim...but who else was there, truly? He sighed.

“Jim...Spock is...he…” Jim frowned, sitting up further in the bed, fixing his friend with his best Captain’s Glare.

“Doctor McCoy, what is the condition of Commander Spock?” he asked. The commanding tone gave McCoy something to focus on, and he clung to it, pulling himself up to stand at attention, eyes meeting Jim’s.

“Sir, I regret to inform you that Commander Spock attempted suicide. He is currently unconscious and not responding to treatment.”

Jim’s newly restored sense of well-being disappeared.

“ _Shit.”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long this too, but to make up for it, it's LOONG. My serious boyfriend of 4.5 years showed up on my doorstep unannounced and dumped me, and then another grandmother passed away. I would love it if life stopped punching me in the face.  
> Upside, I'm looking at going back to school for a graduate degree! Prayers and well-wishes appreciated.


	17. Hugs, Tears, and Apprehension

Spock, suicide. 

Suicide, Spock. 

The words didn’t fit together any more than the concepts did, and Jim was starting to feel like he had ‘ _it does not compute_!’ tattooed in blinking neon across his forehead.  He stared at McCoy, who suddenly seemed blurry around the edges.  Ice shot through his veins, and the doctor appeared to grow smaller even as his arms reached out to steady his captain.  Kirk’s fingers tingled, and the bio-bed tilted under him.

“Jim.  Jim!”  McCoy’s hands gripped Kirk’s shoulders firmly, blunt fingers digging into his skin through the thin material of the Medbay gown.  Kirk focused on the sensation, using it to ground himself, forcing his eyes to follow McCoy’s lips as Bones tried to reassure him.  “This isn’t your fault,” the doctor said.

“Yeah, it is,” Kirk replied.  “I pretty much _let_ him bash my skull in.”

“Noticed that, you harebrained idiot.  Point is, you did it to _save his life_ , thus, his current state is not your fault.”

“And look how well that ‘save his life’ bit turned out, Bones.”  Kirk pulled himself off the bio-bed, staggering slightly on weak legs as he pushed past the doctor and out into the main ward.  He stood for a moment, McCoy hovering worriedly behind him, trying to piece together in his still-foggy mind where Sarek would have gone — where Spock would be.

“…Jim…?” Bones' voice triggered Kirk’s memory and the captain turned to his left, toward the Intensive Care Bay.  As he rounded the corner he collided with a solid — if slightly smaller — frame.

Kirk staggered, grabbing Uhura by the shoulders and steadying them both, McCoy’s broad hand finding his back and keeping him stealthily upright.

“Woah, hey, what’s going on?” he asked, ducking his head to try and see her face.  She looked up at him, staring blankly for a moment, tears streaming quietly down her cheeks.

“OmyGod you’re awake!” she gasped.

And then she sobbed, burying her head in his chest as she cried, her whole body shaking.  Kirk stood there, frozen, uncertain of what exactly he ought to do.  He and Uhura had slowly become friends after the whole Nero incident — or at least, she’d stopped using a condescending, biting tone of voice when calling him ‘Captain’ and had cried at Kirk’s death (he’d been told about her reaction when he’d died in the warp core), but he’d always thought her tears were more in sympathy for Spock than for him.  Given the current situation, he was beginning to suspect that his communications officer was a bit more attached to him than she’d like him to believe.

Uhura was gasping for breath, vaguely aware that what she was doing was horribly improper and more than a little embarrassing, but she couldn’t really help herself.  Waking up on a bio-bed was disorienting enough, but running into her — awake and functioning — captain while headed to Spock’s bedside after having gone to sleep thinking that she would never see either of them healthy again was more than she could reasonably handle.

After several minutes, she managed to compose herself slightly and pull away from Kirk, running her hands over her face to clear it of tears.  The captain fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment and then turned, intending to grab some tissues from the table by the nearest bio-bed.  Before he could take the step he swayed, pressing one hand to his head and reaching the other out, searching for something with which to stabilize himself.  Uhura grabbed him, finally noticing the swath of bandages still surrounding his head, the frightening paleness of his skin, and the concerned McCoy hovering behind him, steadying Kirk with a hand on each shoulder.

“Should you even be out of bed?” she gasped, leading him over to the one for which he’d been headed and maneuvering him onto it.

“No,” McCoy replied for him, grabbing a tricorder and scanning Kirk, checking the readings against the ones lighting up on the bio-bed screens. “He’s lucky he didn’t still have a force-plate in his skull when he jumped off the bed.”

“I wanted to see Spock,” the captain explained, reaching around Uhura to grab some tissues.

“Thanks,” she sniffled when he handed them to her, turning away slightly as she blew her nose, the sound ringing painfully in his aching head.

“Anytime.”  He waited until she’d finished before looking at her searchingly, casting his gaze sideways at McCoy.

“Nyota…” McCoy said softly, meeting her gaze with sad eyes.  “Spock still isn’t responding to treatment.  Sarek’s gone in there to meld with him again, but there’s no guarantee it will work, even though Kirk woke up.”

“What are you going to do?”

“If he’s going to live, it’s going to be because of something Sarek does with that Vulcan mind-voodoo of his; there’s nothing else we can do for him.”

Uhura gave a sobbing hiccup and Kirk reached for her, slightly surprised when she gratefully accepted his hug.  He couldn’t help but lean against her as the room spun.

“We’ll keep doing everything we can, Nyota,” he said, stroking her back gently, figuring now was as good a time as any to use her first name.  “Right, Bones?”

“Absolutely, Jim.  He’s strong; if anyone can pull through something like this, it’s the Hobgoblin.”

In his arms, Kirk felt Uhura give a strangled sort of laugh and smiled grimly to himself.

From across the ‘Bay, M’Benga exited one of the ICB rooms and beckoned to McCoy, who clapped Kirk on the shoulder once.

“Sarek’s about to start the meld; I’ll be back once we know anything,” he said.  “Keep Jim on that bed, Uhura,” he said.  The communications officer stepped back from Kirk and nodded to the doctor.  They both watched as the door slid closed behind the two doctors, and then Uhura stepped aside, holding out a hand to steady Kirk as he slipped off the biobed.

“I’m going in there,” he said.

“Of course you are, Captain,” she replied.

Kirk was contemplating the keypad for Spock’s room, focusing on keeping his wobbly legs steady, when her voice rang out behind him.

“Captain!”

“Yes, Lieutenant?” Kirk half-turned, watching her dark eyes fill with something that could almost be called faith.

“Bring him back to me, Sir.”

Kirk nodded once, and then overrode the privacy lock on the door, entering the room and leaving her outside.

Sarek sat on the biobed with both hands on his son’s sallow face, fingers pressed down into Spock’s psi-points, brows furrowed unnaturally into a frown of mixed concentration and frustrated grief.

For a moment, Kirk had to look away, too deeply moved by the emotional sight of an expressive Vulcan desperately trying to save the life of his wounded son.

“Jim, you shouldn’t be in here,” McCoy whispered from beside him.  Kirk started, not having noticed the doctor, so caught up was he in staring at the two Vulcans.

“I couldn’t just wait out there, Bones,” he rasped, his throat tight.  “It’s Spock.”

“Yeah, Kid.  I know.”  McCoy gripped Kirk’s shoulder tightly, and together they waited, eyes fixed on the Vulcans. "Believe me; I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. You hate me.
> 
> This isn't technically abandoned, it was just on a very, very long hiatus.  
> Since I last posted, I ranged through a couple job changes, related to some severe invisible and visible illnesses. I have seen a couple dozen doctors now, and I'm mostly better, but a thing or two I'll struggle with the rest of my life.  
> Meantime, I'm working at a job I love, and recently got 'promoted' of a sort.  
> Also, I GOT MARRIED. Big shocker, but during this time of my life kinda falling apart, someone I'd gone to middle school with came back from the other side of the bloody country (and in the US, that's quite a ways,) and we reconnected...and boy has that man been the best thing that ever happened to me. Were it not for him, I would quite literally be dead at least twice over by now.  
> He's anxious to see me put some of my efforts back into my writing and be creative again, so I'm doing some little pieces. I'd like to think I've grown as a person, if not a writer, since my last post, so hopefully some of that will show up in the things I write from here out.  
> If you feel like doing a re-read, you may see some slight (very) alterations, I noticed some minor spelling/grammar/etc errors when I reread myself.
> 
> EDIT: After an extremely insensitive remark was made about my marriage, I feel I must point out, my husband is NOT the boyfriend who dumped me in the author's not on Ch. 16. That event happened nearly 3 years ago, with an individual who was a young man who hadn't grown up yet, and I was a young woman in the same boat. I am happy, my family happy; please don't pass judgment on my life.
> 
> -Mrs. Marie B.


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